


Runaway

by DracoNunquamDormiens



Series: Bleed Black: The First War [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Character Death, First War, Gen, I love James' parents., I've gone and done it and killt the dog, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, James has had enough of this tripe, James looks after Sirius a whole lot, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, Lord Thingy makes an appearance, Marauders, McGonagall gives the Talk, Peter goes Dark, Powerful Sirius and James, Remus has a bit of a crisis, Sirius Black & James Potter Friendship, Snape is evil, The Dementors suck... all the happiness out of you, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Voldemort undergoes some gender changes and likes it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2018-10-04 08:43:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 309,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10272713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoNunquamDormiens/pseuds/DracoNunquamDormiens
Summary: What Sirius told Harry about running away from home left a lot out. Here we find out what happened when he ran, why he ran, and the things that developed after. This is an AU fic, originally posted on FanFiction, ongoing and revised. Read, enjoy, comment. No Slash, angsty and dark.





	1. Part One: Winter Solstice

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Harry Potter franchise or its universe. I just play around in it, free of charge.

 **Notes:** This is part of the backstory to Time of the Turning and is set in an AU, although it sort of goes well with Canon until Part 6. Enjoy, R &R

* * *

**Runaway**

**By**

**DracoNunquamDormiens**

* * *

 

 

 

 

> _"You ran away from home?"_
> 
> _"When I was about sixteen," said Sirius. "I'd had enough."_
> 
> _"Where did you go?" asked Harry, staring at him._
> 
> _"Your dad's place," said Sirius. "Your grandparents were really good about it; they sort of adopted me as a second son. Yeah, I camped out at your dad's in the school holidays, and when I was seventeen I got a place of my own. My Uncle Alphard had left me a decent bit of gold - he's been wiped off here, too, that's probably why - anyway, after that I looked after myself. I was always welcome at Mr. and Mrs. Potter's for Sunday lunch, though."_
> 
> _\- Order of the Phoenix_

* * *

**Part One: Winter Solstice**

* * *

 

_They sold me out. They sold me out._

_Merlin's_ _balls,_ _**she** _ _sold me out-_

He ran, that one thought racing through his head as wildly as he raced across deserted streets, bare feet splashing in icy puddles, slipping and sliding in the frozen mud, his breath coming out in ragged, steaming gasps.

What a way to spend a holiday.

Sure, there weren't many Muggles who celebrated the ancient Yule festival anymore, but Wizards did. Particularly those of ancient blood, who clung to the old ways like a lifeline. Families such as the Blacks.

It was no coincidence that his mother had picked today to hand him over. It was a day of great power, if you went by the Ancient Calendars. A day in which the most weighty of decisions were made; fate-changing decisions, as it were.

Not that this fact was currently helping him at all.

He ran faster, his legs felt like they were on fire, every breath was a burning, wheezing struggle — but he _had_ to get away, as far away from the Black town house as he could— as far away from his cousins as he could. Because they were following, and gaining on him.

How he had survived the fall, he wasn't sure; he _might_ have transformed in midair, _might_ have scrambled away in dog form - even if he wasn't in his dog form _now_. All he knew at this moment was that he wasn't dead, his legs were still, incredibly, working even if one was likely broken, even if he felt quite close to falling apart, thus proving to him that, whatever all was wrong with him wasn't impairing his movement; that his head was spinning, and that he had to get as far away from them all as he could.

 _They sold me out. Why?_ _**Why**_?

He slipped around a corner, tripped, fell, scrambled in a frozen puddle to regain his footing, chest heaving as he sucked in burning breath after burning breath, forcing his limbs to work in his frantic bid for escape.

How had it come to _this_?

His family life, if it could be termed such, had never been anything to boast of; ever since he was Sorted into Gryffindor, it became nothing short of pure hell, coming to his parents' for the Summer. Sirius never came to London unless it was unavoidable, or if he was 'required' by some stupid obligation or other, such as some of his parents' dinner parties, or his naming as 'heir apparent' by his father in Second Year, or his father's funeral a couple of years ago.

Sirius didn't really miss him all that much. There had been no parting words, not a shred of emotional attachment—just a formal letter telling him he was to step in as the head of the Blacks now Orion was gone, a cursed ring, a fortnight he could only half recall, the other half of which he had buried as deep as he had his father.

Sirius hated the arrangement. His mother hated it even more, she had always wanted Regulus to be in Sirius' place instead, but they were subjected to the rules of the Old Houses, and they had all played the game; even Sirius had, and he hadn't done it half badly, either.

But no more.

There was one regard that the entire family seemed to agree in, though; they saw as little of each other as possible, getting together only when it couldn't be prevented by any means— only this time, it had been _different._

_I should have seen it coming._

Sirius had toyed with the idea of leaving more than once. Ever since his first holiday back home, he'd spent hours daydreaming of forging himself a life of his own, away from his family's tyranny, their cruel yoke and the obligations they insisted on shoving at him — petty, unnecessary demands of cruelty towards a world he had always found fascinating, one that they despised beyond anything.

The Blacks, one of the High Houses of old, were Dark Wizards _par excellence_ , priding themselves in their mastery of a kind of magic as dark as their name. That was where Orion and Walburga had encountered a wall with their eldest. He would never go Dark; he had fought it inch by inch for as long as he could remember, had rebelled against them and their ways for years, had paid for it dearly already.

Apparently, it hadn't been enough to get his point across.

And yet, despite all the signs that pointed towards it, Sirius had never thought that it would end like _this_.

Not too far behind, he could hear — or was he imagining it? — the echoing footfalls of the Death Eaters in pursuit. Could hear Bellatrix' and Narcissa's angry mutters as they were forced to join them, rather than carry on with the 'festivities'. Had he had half a mind for irony at the moment, he'd surely have appreciated it far better. His _cousins_ were hot after his blood, and the worse it ended for him, the prouder the family would be... The prouder his _mother_ would be.

_They sold me out. She sold me out._

_How **could** she?_

Skidding to a halt around a corner, Sirius pressed his back against a red brick wall, putting a hand over his mouth to still the ragged noise of his breathing and muffle a wince. He had _one_ chance at this - just the one. And he knew what would happen if he messed it up; the same things that had happened so far, the same things he was trying to escape from.

 _"Imperio! Bow before your betters, you insolent_ _blood-traitor!" The floating sensation had been so nice... so warm, enticing... Emboldening. He could do anything in this state,_ anything _he wanted._

 _Sirius snorted, derision and contempt seeping out despite the spell that was holding him_ _– but, as it was, he wasn´t held by it. He never was anymore. "There are no betters of mine here. Just..." He shrugged one shoulder. "Just you lot." The floating sensation of being in a dream vanished with a quiet_ _**pop** _ _._

 _What followed was a long string of threats, curses, both known and unknown to him, which he tried to dodge as best as he could - to a most mediocre effect. In his defense, there was little to be done in a room packed with people, all of whom had their wands all but shoved up his nose_ _, all of whom were angry at him—quite possibly due to something he had said or done to taunt them during the last handful of minutes— all of whom knew a whole range of most interesting spells - and most of whom had been itching to use them on him for months._

_Some hit. Some didn't. Others yet ricocheted off the walls and hangings of Sirius' room and cracked the windows into bits. For a few moments, there was only a confusion of yells, harsh laughs, incantations, and screams._

_Most embarrassingly, those last were_ _exclusively his._

_"Imperio!" A screech this time._

_Sirius didn't care; he was in a_ _warm, floating bubble again, there was no pain, no weakness here. There was no fear..._

No fear.

_Such a delightful feeling, washing off the pain, the shakiness... He looked at the group assembled before him, eyes glazed over and unfocused. Bellatrix, who had cast it this time, smirked._

_Sirius watched her from the floor, where he had landed after the last Cruciatus was lifted._

_"Get up."_

_He did, with surprising ease. The others chuckled and giggled. Even in his state, he found that annoying._

_"Dance. Like a monkey." Laughter erupted._

_Sirius gave them a mildly interested look, but did not stir. Dancing was stupid without music, and dancing for_ _**them** _ _, well. "I said, dance like a monkey!"_

 _"Why don't you do it?" Sirius suggested easily. Again, the float_ _ing feeling vanished. It happened every time, had become the norm for a while, and it drove his mother mad with rage: Every Imperius cast at him was useless; he threw it off with irritating ease. Due to overexposure, probably._

 _Sirius prided himself in his ability, even if at times like this, it was rather counterproductive; inevitably, he would say something to rile them up, and this time, he was grossly outnumbered,_ _wandless, and without any hope for help._

_And there he went._

_His inner voice squeaked out a panicked yelp_ _of a warning a split second before Sirius opened his mouth again, to no avail. Even under the curse, he gave Bellatrix a cocky grin, and added, "It should be pretty natural for you - you look like an orangutan anyh-"_

_"Everbero!"_

_It hit him square in the chest and sent him flying into the wall right behind him, making the portrait of Phineas Nigellus sway dangerously. Not that old Phineas seemed to mind; the bastard was snickering._

_"-ow." Sirius finished at a wheeze, sliding to the floor._

_Something in the back of his head had told him, nay, had_ _screamed_ _its warnings at him, but he couldn't help himself. Every single time they said something, no matter what it was, he just_ _had_ _to say something back, preferably something to incense them._

_Every time._

_And he had become quite the little expert at hacking them off royally. He could do it with a minimal investment of words, energy, and magic. Proficiency, some would call it. Idiocy, was what his mind supplied instead._

While getting bullied by his cousins had been a regular occurrence at every family get-together, they'd never brought their little play-dates along before, or ambushed him in his bedroom. Sirius had never been unarmed before — unless he counted his first year back at home, when his father had taken his wand away – but, again, this had been _different_. This was as different as it could get, and he knew he probably wouldn't make it past the Yule.

Particularly not if they caught up with him.

The group chasing him was coming closer, getting louder, their pounding footsteps indicating that they were approaching fast. Sirius peeled himself off the wall he'd been leaning against and took off once more, forcing his legs to carry his weight once again—

"Oy! There he is!"

"Where?"

" _There_! Get him!"

"Come back, little cousin!" Bella shouted happily after him. "Oh, go on, don't run away!"

He just ran faster.

* * *

Pacing had not helped James Potter any more than counting sheep had.

Staring out his window into the snow-covered village of Godric's Hollow, which stretched out at the foot of the hill upon which Godric's Hall stood... offered a pretty sight, but wasn't helping him at all, either.

"Honey, you should try and get some sleep."

"I'm not sleepy, Mum," James mumbled, not bothering to turn around.

"What's wrong?" Betty Potter reached her son's side, pressed a mug of steaming hot chocolate into his hands, which he reluctantly accepted. He had been this way all day, hadn't even finished his Yule Dinner, and that was most unusual for him. She'd made all his favourite foods.

"It's... It's weird," James told her, shaking his head. Then he sighed, giving in to his mother's concerned look. "It's about Sirius, he's in trouble."

"When is Sirius _not_ in trouble?" his Mum asked gently, but she too, had been worried. As was her husband. They usually worried, though, when Sirius was wanted home for a holiday, so this was sadly nothing out of the ordinary.

"It's _different_ this time, Mum," James said. He pulled a scroll out of his pocket. "This came in earlier."

The scroll's seal - bearing the Potter crest - wasn't broken.

"I don't..." Betty started, but then James turned the scroll around. Written on it, in an untidy scrawl that could only belong to a Sirius in a great hurry, she read, ' _DON'T WRITE AGAIN_ '.

"Oh," she said after a moment. What more could be said to that? The implications were not unknown to either of them, and neither were the sort to repeat themselves unnecessarily.

"I'm worried," said James, pocketing the scroll. "I... I think something happened. Something bad."

"Well, you know how his family gets," Betty tried to ease his mind, but it became obvious she ought to have chosen a different opener for it. James grimaced.

"Do I _ever_."

"Maybe it's another one of those... pointless rules they have?"

"I hope that's all it is," James mumbled, but he seemed unconvinced. "What if he's..."

She didn't let him finish.

"James darling, you need to _sleep_. It's late. We might yet get word from Sirius, maybe your letter just arrived at a bad time- he was in a hurry to get rid of it, it's just a scribble. He'll probably write soon enough, he never goes any length of time without doing so."

James nodded, but instead of listening to her, he looked out the window again, as if he expected Sirius to show up on the snowed-in front lawn.

"Don't stay up all night fretting, dear." Betty Potter said with a sigh, admitting defeat. She kissed him on the cheek and ruffled his already untidy hair before leaving his room. There was nothing she or anyone could do to make him feel better; the only one who could do that was Sirius. She hoped he'd send word soon; she was worried too, and James had done nothing to put her concerns to rest.

James flopped down on his bed and sipped his chocolate, but it didn't bring the calm it usually did. His stomach was wringing itself into knots, his eyes were stinging with tiredness, but he wasn't any closer to sleep than he had up until now. What _could_ he do? Worry and fret, but nothing else—

The vision came to him abruptly, unbidden, making his room melt away in a split second, landing him in another, which was as familiar as his own, even though he had never before set foot in it, nor would he ever do so.

_Sirius flew across his room, amidst gales of laughter._

_"Happy Yule, little cousin. Have you missed us? I've certainly missed_ _**you** _ _."_

James jerked upright - the vision faded a little before his eyes as James asserted himself as sitting on his own bed at home, but the distinct sensation of what was going on, miles and miles away, lingered most unpleasantly.

He had been right.

Sirius was in trouble of the worst kind. That had been Bellatrix walking into his room- As if on cue, her voice reached James' ears.

_"We've come to help you get ready for your trip."_

_"What the hell are you on about?"_ Sirius' wheezing voice was harsh and snappish, but he was frightened, James could tell. And that was never good.

_They just laughed, raised their wands._

The visions and flashes of images came to him like a badly-edited film, a puzzle he didn't need to see whole to put together, snatches of sentences ringing in his ears. At first, he recognised the faces, but then they gave way to others he didn't know. Others in black robes and silver Death Eater masks.

Sirius was in trouble; that had become clear to James from the moment he'd gotten the letter ordering him home, a few days before the holidays. How terribly dangerous this trouble was _hadn't_ been clear to James, though, not until he saw a flash of poisonous yellow before his mind's eye.

James swallowed, even as over 400 miles away, Sirius howled out in pain.

The connection broke.

* * *

The Death Eaters were coming closer; he could hear the tracking spells they unhurriedly cast louder each time. Instinctively, Sirius slunk back into the shadows, trying to blend in with the scenery.

There wasn't much to blend _into_ , however.

His hearing, sharpened beyond human measure by the dog sharing his mind, could pick up every last sliver of sound for yards around, from the record of Muggle Christmas Carols blaring a few houses down, to the rapidly decreasing distance between his pursuers and him. He could _almost_ tell how far away they were. Still, he did not move.

 _Just a few more steps. Focus._ Focus...

Could he even pull it off? Never mind without being spotted, or tracked, as he was trying to do.

 _What else_ can _I do?_

It was his only option: wandless magic was something he had mastered ages ago, something he needed to learn for his Animagus transformation, something that had helped him out of a tight spot more than once. But he had never attempted it in the heart of Muggle London, and he was acutely aware of what would happen if the Ministry tracked him down on top of everything else. Getting away from the Death Eaters would be a waste of time; he'd get tossed into Azkaban for it. So he had to do it at the same time someone else cast a spell, thus confusing the Ministry's tracking spells. He'd done it before.

But could he do it _now_?

He was shaking, struggling to remain standing even, half-frozen, half-dead, bleeding and hurting and exhausted and in the open - but he had to try. At the very least, he had to _try_. It was his only chance. He wouldn't manage to keep this pace up any longer.

The footsteps approached further, a voice he had learned to despise with his every fibre muttering an incantation over and over, rhythmically and in a sing-song voice. Sirius was glad for this; if he wanted to pull it off, he would have to time it and transform at the very moment the spell was cast. Otherwise, his Trace could activate - he wasn't sure if it applied to wandless magic cast in a non-magical setting, but if it did... Then he'd be toast.

_Don't think, just do. Focus. Deep breath... Now-_

Lucius Malfoy stepped around the corner, the spell he had been casting and re-casting since leaving the Black Town House dying on his lips.

The tracking spell returned no result, where one moment ago, it had told him Sirius was right around the corner he had just turned. But the street was completely deserted.

Lucius cursed at midvoice.

He cast the spell again - and nearly walked into a large black dog curled up next to a phone booth. He stared at it for a moment, then looked up and down the street, cast the spell again, cursed out his frustration, aiming a kick at the ball of fur that still lay there, unmoving as if dead.

"Where is he?" Bellatrix demanded, catching up with him and ignoring the dog completely. "Why did you stop?"

"He's... _gone_ ," Lucius muttered, cursing under his breath yet again, with the same result as before.

"What do you _mean_ , 'he's gone'?" Bellatrix shrieked. She had never cared who saw her, heard her, who noticed she was a witch, and at times like these, it was best to let her vent before she exploded. She always took it out on whoever happened to be closest, and Lucius wasn't fool enough to try and rein in her temper. "He can't be _gone_ , Lucius!"

"Are you sure you cast the tracking spell correctly?" Narcissa had caught up with them, even as Rodolphus and Rabastan, Gregory Mulciber and Ambrose Flint hurried up the street to join them. The group, all of whom minus Narcissa had left Hogwarts already, wore the same kind of expensive-looking black robes, which were splattered here and there with smudges of dirt, frost, and the same sticky red substance that was trickling, unnoticed, from the dog's back and front.

"Yes, Cissy, _I'm sure_." Lucius' annoyance was evident in his tone, although he somehow managed to restrain his anger. Raging about was for people like Bellatrix, too wild to so much as consider the meaning of the term self-control. He, though, was above such things; he had to be, if he wanted to marry Cissy someday, raising his bloodline up to the level of the High Houses. "It was working perfectly well... until now."

"Do you think he can Apparate?"

"He's too young to," grunted Flint, rubbing his hands together for warmth. "He's still underage."

"Do you think that's enough of a reason to assume he _can't_ do it?" Rabastan shook his head, panting to catch his breath. "He could have picked it up somewhere, the little bastard—"

"Even if he _knew_ how, he couldn't _possibly_ have _apparated_ , don't be _stupid_ ," snapped Lucius, drawing attention away from the dog, whose hackles were rising. When he stressed words needlessly like that, it meant he was _very_ annoyed. "He's got no wand, and he's pretty beaten up. Probably just hiding around here... somewhere."

Not three feet away, the dog shifted ever so slightly, keeping its startling silver eyes downcast. It seemed to be considering making a break for it.

"How far _can_ he go, anyway?" Bella asked, snorting. "He's barefoot, and in his _jammies_ , for crying out loud - and after that fall..." she shook her head. "Can't have been thinking straight, can he? He was crazed enough to jump out of a fourth floor —Lucius is right. Maybe we passed him on the way here. There's no way he's escaped, not after what our Lord—"

"Re-cast the spells," Rodolphus ordered, interrupting her. "Impossible or no, I don't think the Master will be too pleased when he learns that the brat escaped."

"It's not our Master I'm worried about," said Bellatrix haughtily. "Worry about our _auntie_ when she finds out we don't have him. After all she's done to keep him in the house this past week..."

"Maybe," said Cissy, and she sounded rather hopeful about it too, "Maybe he's _dead_. That's why the tracking spell stopped working," she added brightly, as if she had just worked out the solution to a riddle. She shrugged her petite shoulders, flashed them all a bright smile. "He died."

"That would be a shame," Bellatrix said, and she too, sounded earnest. "Didn't you hear all that the Master wanted to do with him?" She cackled, a half-crazed laugh that was eerily reminiscent of Sirius' mother. "He would have turned into the perfect Black afterwards. Loyal to the cause. A true follower of our Lord."

"That blood-traitor would never be fit to wipe the dirt from our Master's shoes," Rodolphus objected disdainfully. "He'd be better off dead."

"You're just jealous because his blood's ever so much purer than yours, darling," drawled Bella, smiling at him and patting him on the cheek. "He's a _disgrace_ , yes, but once our Master has made him see that our ways are better than whatever it is his confused little mind has led him to believe... Then he _will_ be great. He has the power to be, as do all us Blacks, and our Master-"

"If you're _quite_ done," Lucius muttered impatiently, tapping his foot on the ground. "We still have to go get him, be it dead or alive. I don't think our _Master_ will want to hear that he got away because we were forced to listen to your little speech, or believe he is dead unless we have a body to show for it."

"Auntie won't be happy about that either," Cissy chimed in. Bellatrix gave her a sour look; she was infatuated with her Master, and took any chance to boast his virtues to the four winds.

"She won't like it, Bella, you know how she gets. It's not that we don't like listening to you, or that what you're saying isn't the pure truth. It's just that we don't have much time." Rabastan told her bracingly, and Bella relented.

"Well, they're both waiting back in the house and we're all freezing out here. I say let's get cracking," she muttered, all business again.

They left, talking amongst themselves, casting every tracking, detection, and search spell they knew. The dog, who had gone overlooked by everyone and remained completely still in his corner, stood up and shook its fur out, spraying dirt, water, and blood every which way, before taking off in the opposite direction at an uneven pace.

* * *

Though as a dog his emotions were much less raw and less complicated, rational thought remained. His mother had sold him out to Voldemort. His entire family had. This realisation sort of killed the relief he ought to be feeling at having escaped from the Great Sodhead himself.

He gave a doggy, yet no less bitter, chuckle. That was a fitting name for Voldemort, a much more descriptive one at the very least - though Bastard, conventional and unoriginal as it was, fit as well.

 _Great Bastarding Sodhead, maybe?_ He trotted down the street, tail held low. Though his Animagus form was fantastic for distance and speed travel, he was in no fit state to _travel_ anywhere, and he knew it.

Best make the most of it while his limbs still worked; in London, the sight of a bearlike, pony-sized dog would arouse much greater suspicion than it would in the countryside.

Sirius knew everything there was to know about the restrictions on underage magic, so he didn't turn back into his human form; he couldn't safely do so, not until he reached a place where magic was regularly practiced at. The Trace was still on him, and his chances of survival equalled zero if it alerted the Ministry: the Death Eaters would be on him like stink on cheese before he had gone three paces.

Besides, he was much better equipped to go places as Padfoot. Four legs were much steadier than two, even if they were all torn-up and not quite responsive, and fur was loads warmer in the wintry cold than his torn-up pyjamas, despite the gashes he felt along his back; he drew attention to himself due to his size, yes, but as long as he was careful, this was his best chance of survival. A bloodied-up kid in torn pyjamas was far more likely to be noticed by Muggles and Wizards alike.

He padded silently down streets that were as deserted as the ones around Islington, half-listening to the sounds in nearly every pub he passed. The smell of food wafted to his nose, combined with scents of beer, of cider, of joy, of carefree partying, of _home_.

Not _his_ home, to be sure. He had never really had one, unless he counted Hogwarts. The Black Town House he had just barely escaped from had never had, and would never have, any of the traits of a home. As he saw it, it wasn't even a proper _house_. Rather, it was a mausoleum to his ancient heritage, as dead inside as his old ancestors were, every bit as despised by him as his entire family tree.

Or _almost_ his entire family tree.

He stopped next to Blackfriar's Bridge for a breather, certain now he was no longer being followed - though distance alone wouldn't really do the trick. Such things were mere trifles for wizards, particularly the sort he had royally hacked off this go round.

Sirius sat back on his haunches, ignoring the raw twinges all along his back. He needed to think, needed to decide what to do. He couldn't afford messing up now; he had to go somewhere safe. Somewhere where he could get help, because right now, he'd just become a part of Voldemort's blacklist, and few ever survived long after achieving such a thing.

Where _could_ he go, though?

He had been wondering for the better part of an hour, and the urgency of finding a destination was increasing the more distance he put between himself and his former house, the more tired he became. Who would take him in? Who would dare challenge the Dark Side like that?

There weren't many options.

 _First off, who would dare go against Walburga Black openly?_ Her ill temper and far-reaching curses were well-known to wizardkind, and now Sirius' father was dead and he was being hunted, she was, albeit temporarily, the head of this ancient family, endowed with every power that came with it, holding the post until the rightful heir to the Second Line came of age. Sirius was meant to step in as head of the Blacks in a year or so, and he often wondered who hated the arrangement more; him or his mother. Or Reg, who was ever so much _better_ at being a right proper Black than him.

Sirius sighed, wiggling his ears as he scanned his surroundings for sounds of anyone approaching, and returned to his previous line of musings. They weren't any better than his bitter thoughts on his family.

Few would dare go against his mum. Fewer still would take in a Black anyhow; the whole family was considered wizards of the darkest kind until proven otherwise. And nobody, aside from a handful of people (either very brave or _very_ stupid people), would dare house _anyone_ who was wanted by Voldemort.

Much less if that someone happened to be a Black.

 _Dammit_.

His first thought went to James; the Potters had been on Voldemort's hitlist for as long as anyone could remember, and they had survived alright so far.

But they had enough trouble as it was, without him crashing every plan they might have... Voldemort wanted the Potters dead, that's what he had wanted him for in the first place, wasn't it?

_"You are friends with the Potters' boy, are you not?" Voldemort crouched in front of Sirius, his mass of robes swishing as his blue eyes pierced into Sirius' grey. Sirius stared back, but he did so with dread. Voldemort smiled at Sirius again, and this time, Sirius shivered. "You will bring them to me."_

What?

_"No." Sirius whispered at once. It was not quite a plea, not quite an answer, filled with horror. He swallowed, the full extent of what Voldemort really wanted to do with him sinking in, even as something pinned him in place, holding him still while strands of magic, of powerful and alien magic, started probing his mind. Searching for something, something he didn't want to give-_

_Sirius reacted out of instinct; years of living amidst the Blacks had taught him to keep a secret, and he shut his mind off, shoved Voldemort's attempts at Legilimency aside. It was a great effort, but he managed to push him out. Barely._

_"_ No _," he repeated. He was panting, but this time it_ **was** _an answer, firm and without hesitation._

 _"Mark my words," Voldemort said, as pleasantly as before, now standing to tower before the boy lying on the rug at his feet. "_ _Before this year is over, you'll hand me the Potters, starting with that remarkable young friend of yours, James."_

 _"_ You mark mine _," Sirius spat, opening his overlarge mouth once more. This time, though, his inner voice wasn't screaming any warnings. It was screaming highly creative obscenities at Voldemort, which Sirius was itching to voice. Instead he added, "That's not going to happen."_

" _Is that right?" Nobody could have missed the challenge in Voldemort's tone._

" _It's not going to happen," Sirius repeated through barred teeth. Voldemort laughed._

Sirius swallowed. He couldn't very well go leading a band of Munchers to the Potters, now could he? What if it was all some part of an intricate plan to make him lead the Death Eaters to James' very doorstep?

Sirius dismissed the idea of heading for Godric's Hollow, though he wished desperately he could count on his best mate's help - but that would mean playing straight into Voldemort's hands, wouldn't it?

And yet... James _would_ know what to do to get out of this fix. He'd have a good idea or three at the very least, could let Sirius borrow his great-grandfather's wand, which for some reason wasn't too bad a fit, or at the very least let him borrow some clothes and food. He'd...

_He'd get killed. Worse than killed. Way worse._

Sirius steered sharply away from this train of thought. It wasn't getting him anywhere. The least he could do for James and his family, was warn them. Warn them to be careful... Warn them against him. If Launcelot were still alive, he'd be able to. As things stood, though...

Sirius sighed again, burying his nose between his paws. It was all such a royal cock-up.

 _Could_ _I try Andie?_

His cousin had run away from home too, gotten married to Ted Tonks, become a Healer - but there was the matter of her having a tiny tot of a daughter to think of, and she and Ted had managed to stay out of trouble by sheer force of luck. They didn't need Sirius running to them, didn't need that extra attention, didn't need the Dark Side to remember that they existed.

So it was a no. Not even for a moment, not even in passing.

_Uncle Alfie, perhaps?_

He'd helped Sirius out before, had let James visit him at his Scotland house during the holidays, had even rescued him a few times from his enraged parents after some of his stupider stunts.

Uncle Alfie was an outcast already, and Sirius knew of few who had the same sort of power as he had - maybe Alfie couldn't take him in, directly - this was hugely different from smuggling him to James' for a day or two - but he'd surely, hopefully, help him out in a way or another.

That Alfie's house was very close to Wales, and thus, to James', was just a happy coincidence, one he and James had milked many times before during the holidays. Deciding he'd send word to James when he got the chance, Sirius set off, hoping he wasn't making a great mistake.

* * *

" _Gone_?!"

The shriek made even the portrait of the house's mistress cringe. Walburga Black was beside herself with fury.

"He... He might be dead, Auntie," Cissy tried, but she could not do much to conceal the glee this thought still caused her. For a seventeen-year-old, she could be dreadfully grown up when she wanted to.

"Mights and maybes are of no use to me!" Walburga snapped heatedly, but Lord Voldemort, perched on a plush armchair in the front parlour, placated her with a gesture.

"Rest assured, my dear Walburga, that I shall do everything in my power to find your stray son," he said placidly, his tone betraying none of the anger that was glinting in his eyes. "I shall endeavour to find and shape him in the best way for a head of the High House of Black."

"Before you start on any shaping," Walburga said angrily, her yellowing skin making her look rather more crazed than before. "I wish to do some of my own."

"When he is found, and he _shall_ be," Voldemort countered, "you shall be the first to hear of it. He is, after all, yours, milady."

.

* * *

.

It was dawning when he finally stopped, flopping onto his belly without any ceremony whatsoever. He had crossed the River Thames South over Blackfriar's Bridge, then taken a detour - or gotten lost - before he'd gone West again. He was aware of that much.

At some point before his brain stopped working altogether, he had determined - though by what thought process he had done this, was a great mystery to him - that it was the general direction out of London and to the West. So he'd just... carried onwards, in as straight a line as he could manage.

West. That was where Alfie was. Where he could get some manner of help, along the way towards his real destination, one he hadn't thought of before for some reason.

Hogwarts was the only truly safe haven he knew. There was a bed there and food, and maybe even Pomfrey, who'd make everything alright again. Moreover, that was where Dumbledore was, and his only chance at having someone take him in without making himself even more of a target than he already was. Dumbledore had always challenged Voldemort, and Voldemort feared him. Dumbledore didn't give one jot about blood status or the like either; he had even taken Moony in, hadn't he? Maybe he'd take Sirius in too, and... Well, he would just try and take it from there.

The public garden he was in was as empty as he felt, the crunching of frost under his paws the only sound. People had been celebrating - not the Yule, perhaps, but just that it was a Friday, and the beginning of their holidays - and now they were, for the most part, sleeping it off. It would be a lazy day, which meant fewer dangers of Muggles wanting to call the pound on him... Sirius curled up at the base of a tree, letting out a slow breath. He needed to sleep, to rest, to go to Alfie's, then to Hogwarts...

But sleep wouldn't come.

In its stead, came a host of thoughts.

He should have known something was up the second he got that letter from his mother, ordering him to London for the Christmas holidays. He _should have known_ , the minute he set foot in that accursed house and had his wand taken from him. He should have known what she would do - and quite probably, he _had_ known all along.

Not that she'd arrange for Voldemort to come pick him up to 'straighten him out', no... But he _did_ know she was up to something when she locked him up in his room outright and warded it as securely as a Gringott's vault. When she killed Launcelot, his owl. When she personally came to bring him food every day at random times, so he never knew what to expect. He'd even returned James' letter, unopened, warning him not to write again, for fear she'd notice.

What, exactly, she'd had in store for him, had only become evident a few hours into the afternoon on Yule day, when he heard his cousins and their friends arrive, all laughs and itching to help in his 'education' to become a proper pure-blooded wizard. And even then, when they decided to pay him a visit to 'get him ready for his trip', he hadn't really understood what they meant.

_"Now, now, children," the dark-haired wizard said, stepping into the complete mess of a room and interrupting a round of rather nasty curses being thrown at Sirius. "This is no way to treat anyone of such pure blood, of such ancestry." The room, which had been left unheated for days, became even more chillingly cold, and from his less-than-vantage location on the floor, Sirius briefly wondered if they'd kill him - it would have been a blessing at this point in time._

_The wizard flashed him a smile. Rows of perfect teeth, gleaming unnaturally white in the flickering light of the snake-shaped candelabra overhead, were bared in an almost feral grimace, even as eyes flashed red at him. Voldemort watched him avidly, hungrily. Sirius swallowed dryly._

_"He has become a fine lad, Walburga," he said appreciatively. Only then did Sirius spot his mother standing on his doorstep, arms folded and watching him coolly. "Headstrong. Resilient. Courageous, even if he's facing an almost certain death. I like that in a wizard. It is a mark of a great heritage." Had he been watching all this time?_

_Sirius swallowed, heart hammering in his chest. The cold that had come in with Voldemort contradicted the soft, near-gentle tone of his voice, meant to lull him into agreeing with him. But how_ _**could** _ _he? How could he agree with someone who had made a point in bringing terror, pain, and death wherever he went? How could he ever agree with someone who represented everything he hated in Wizardkind?_

_And what, he'd like to know, was this darkest of wizards bloody doing in his room?!_

_"He will make a terrific addition to my ranks," Voldemort said, sounding like he was looking at a particularly nice piece of decoration._

The hell I will.

_Voldemort chuckled in response to Sirius' thoughts, making the latter freeze with realisation._

_"Oh yes, you will, young warlock." His tone brooked no uncertainty. "You are to come with me now, into an early... apprenticeship." The way he drawled out the last word made something inside Sirius snap._

_Everything became clear; his presence here for Christmas, when he rarely ever returned home for anything other than the Summer since first year. His imprisonment, the lack of food or heat - to weaken him, no doubt - the killing of his owl, even. The look on his mother's sallow face was enough to confirm it all._

He should have _known_.

It still made the betrayal hard to bear.

None of that mattered now. He'd managed to escape - although if he'd managed to do so sooner, he'd probably have fared loads better than he was doing now. Every bone ached, and, fur or no fur, he was freezing, hungry, exhausted. But he had gotten away. He was still alive, even if they'd done everything to prevent that from happening.

Sirius curled up into a tight ball, pressed against the tree, and closed his eyes, more to avoid thinking about his current troubles than in any hopes to sleep.

* * *

Over two hundred miles further north, a black-haired boy was trying unsuccessfully to sleep as well.

He _knew_.

He _knew_ something was wrong. Terribly wrong, and though he wasn't sure of what had happened down to the last detail, he'd seen bits and pieces. Enough to know it was bad, and that Sirius was... Sirius was hurt.

He knew that, because he _always_ did. Just as Sirius always knew if he was alright. They'd cast that spell in first year for that, hadn't they?

 _"Alright, according to the book, we're supposed to say something like... "_ Fraternum anime sanguium perenne... _"_

 _"Something_ like _that?" James snorted nervously. "Ever heard about that wizard who didn't say a spell right?"_

_"The Buffalo bloke? Yeah, Flitty said something to that effect, didn't he?" Sirius too, stared nervously at the scroll he was holding in his hand, while balancing a sharp two-edged dagger in the other._

_"You're asking_ me _? We were putting dungbombs on Evans' seat, I wasn't listening." James went ignored, in the face of this, this much more important **thing** they were doing. Trying to, at any rate._

 _"Well, this is pretty smudged," Sirius decided_ _in return, bringing his lit wand closer to the old scroll they'd nicked from the Restricted Section, and the dagger he was holding passed dangerously close to James' nose as he too, leaned closer. "It could be either..._ perenne _or_ perecce _...I reckon."_

 _"You_ reckon _? Mate, '_ Perecce' _means_ die _, doesn't it?"_

 _"_ _Aye. Perenne sounds better to me too," said Sirius, who seemed completely unfazed by the rather dangerous alternative. "What do you reckon?"_

_James squinted at it. Took the scroll in his hands, turned it round a bit, fingers trembling. Not due to the cold._

_"Yeah," he agreed after a few tense moments. "It's... it's_ perenne _."_

_"Let's get to it, then," Sirius said, but his voice too, was unsteady. If anything went wrong, and so much could go wrong, they'd be goners - nobody would find them, out here in the heart of the Forest, much less if they managed to somehow kill themselves..._

They'd still done it. Caught up in the memory, James closed his eyes. It was vivid, like so much else he'd shared with Sirius over the years, he could recall every detail, every smell, every sensation called forth by that ancient spell they'd cast on themselves.

_They'd cast the circle, two raven-haired eleven-year-olds with entirely too many ideas on their minds and lacking any sort of sense to prevent them from putting them in action._

_They might have been little Firsties at the time, but their priorities had been clear._ _Odd, how that had not changed over the years._

_They had had one purpose for being in the Forbidden Forest during the Samhain. Halloween was past, and it was the time between his and Sirius' birthdays, the time when their bond would be strongest._

_"That went well," Sirius mumbled, looking at the shimmering bubble they now stood in, which glowed faintly golden in the clearing._

_Aside from the words of the spells needed for the ritual, it was the last thing he or James said for many hours._

_They'd cut their palms open, with far less hesitation than they'd believed they would have, but once they'd gotten started with the ritual, it was as if some strange, ancient force had gotten a hold on them both, every bit as old as the magic they were performing. They had said the words of the spell as one, their voices strangely carrying and loud in the silent forest, which was still as anything, witnessing an ancient ritual that had been long forgotten._

_They'd put their palms together - and whatever happened next was lost on both of them._

James remembered a flash of bright light, a feeling of being taken apart and put together again, outwardly the same, yet completely different. He and Sirius had become fused together, in magic, mind, body, and soul.

Two of the Ancient Bloodlines bonded together seamlessly, completing one another, making every cell tingle with power, becoming one and then separating into two halves, so similar magically that they might as well have been twins.

 _"That._ _.." Sirius had breathed, when they'd both woken up spread-eagled on the forest ground._

 _"Was wicke_ _d cool," James finished for him, in the same breathless voice._

_Hazel eyes met silvery grey._

_"I know what you're thinking!" They chorused, voices squeaky and childish_ _and thoroughly excited once more._

 _They'd done it. No matter what_ _happened, what turns life took for either of them; they'd not be apart again._

_They'd known it then, had known from that moment on the weightiness of what they'd done._

_And they'd laughed._

_They'd tapped into the Ancient Magic that night, and they'd carried on doing so hence; the ritual had unlocked something in them, given their already natural understanding of magic an_ _added edge. It had become so much greater, when it had started off as just... a way to formalise their friendship, a way to seal it so it wouldn't die no matter what happened._

 _They'd done it, because Sirius feared his parents would send him to Durmstrang after the disgrace they'd suffered, at having him be the first Gryffindor in the Black Line si_ _nce its creation. His mother's Howler had made it clear - so they had looked around, had stumbled upon this ritual. Thought it_ groovy.

_A ritual that bound them to one another: soul to soul, mind to mind, body to body, magic to magic - blood to blood._

_Blood brothers._

_Two as one, until they both died._

It had seemed the right thing to do, back then, and neither had regretted it ever since; it had linked their minds together so thoroughly they could even see through each other's eyes, in times of danger. The link had never failed them before.

It had never sent such disturbing imagery to James' mind either, nor so sketchy.

Sirius was hurt, somewhere cold, in danger. Alone.

And James had the distinct feeling Sirius didn't want him to know where he was. Somehow, he was blocking James out.

" _Dammit_."

Leaving his mug on the sill, James whistled for Alcyone, his owl.

"Damn you, Sirius," he muttered, scribbling a quick note and fumbling with the string to tie it to Alcyone's leg. "What did you get yourself into this time?" _And where the hell are you?_

"Sorry girl, I know it's brass monkeys out," he told the owl, as she swayed on his arm. "Just find him and bring me the answer, alright?"

He watched Alcyone disappear into the night, but his hopes didn't soar with her; what if he didn't get an answer?

* * *

 _"You have been entrusted to my care," Voldemort said softly. "To bring you to your senses, to prepare you to become what you are meant to be - the head of the Black Line, loyal to the Pureblood Cause. And you'll prove it b_ _y bringing James Potter to me. Ah, the two of you together... Just imagine what you could accomplish."_

 _"Are you deaf or just plain_ _stupid?" Sirius' voice was merely a whisper, and he wondered if he could raise it any further if he tried. He knew, he_ _**knew** _ _he'd not survive this meeting. And he didn't care one jot about it anymore. Death, at this point, would be welcome on his part. "I'll never join you, or your ruddy Cause - or your army of utter idiots."_

 _To everyone's surprise, Voldemort la_ _ughed. An earnestly amused laugh that drowned out the furious mutters around him._

_"You see, Sirius, that is the sort of thing that won't do," he said pleasantly. "This sort of disrespect has no place in your bearing, nor does it befit your status or blood."_

_"I did say no," Sirius reminded him stubbornly. It had no effect on Voldemort, who merely carried on, as if he'd never spoken._

_"You might be the heir of a greatly powerful Line, but you still owe respect to your elders, and that is what we shall base our relationship on. I give the orders here - and_ you _, my boy, shall obey every last one of them."_

_"Like handing James and his family over to you?" Sirius shot back, inexplicably finding his temper was rising, drowning his fears and quashing his already non-existent sense of self-preservation. He raffled himself up, expression set and a defiant glint in his eye. "I'd rather die."_

_"You_ will _, if you don't submit to our... arrangement." Voldemort's voice was suddenly hard as steel, the threat evident in every word. Some of the Death Eaters in the room shivered. Sirius, though, didn't._

_"Piss off."_

Sirius woke with a start, making a thin sheet of frost fall off his fur. It was early in the afternoon, to judge by the reddish gleam of the setting sun all around. He needed to carry on, he knew, but moving was almost impossible - even breathing hurt, and he was cold, so cold...

He let his head fall on his paws, letting out a low whine that went unheard in the strip of forest he'd sheltered in. He was freezing, even though his body felt like it would burn up any second; his paws, worn and torn up by the long stretch he'd gone overnight, were throbbing hotly.

Sometime during the night, he'd left London. It was all a blur, so he couldn't be sure of any details, but he was fairly certain he was somewhere in the countryside ... Er... somewhere _around_ London.

Thunder rumbled overhead, and he whined weakly. A storm. That was all he needed now.

When the icy drizzle started to fall, he knew he had to move.

 _Alfie_. Alfie would help. With some truckloads of luck.

And with some more luck, he'd reach his house by morning.

This thought in mind, he raised a muddy, leaden paw, heaved himself to an unsteady stand.

Time to carry on.

.

* * *

.

In Wales, James woke with a start in the upstairs parlour, all but leaping up to check if Alcyone was back yet.

She wasn't.

The setting sun gleamed red and orange off the sides of the hill country surrounding Godric's Hollow, but this stunning view was lost on him. Instead, a far bleaker vision obscured James' sight.

_Rain._

_Lightning forking overhead, casting momentary light on a huge black dog limping ahead in the muck._

Well. At least he was still capable of moving. James flopped back onto his bed, frustrated.

_Sirius, where are you?_

Loud knocking interrupted the start to a quite promising brooding session. James leapt up yet again, peered down the window - to see two blue-robed figures standing at his door.

"What the hell?" he muttered, his blood running cold. He knew those wizards; they'd graduated Hogwarts last year - and now they worked for the Ministry.

He also happened to know where their particular allegiances lay.

"Stay here, James. And keep your wand ready." James spun around, to glimpse his dad passing him on his way down. "And put your cloak on. I don't want any surprises."

Heart hammering, James summoned it from his room, throwing it on and looking out the window at the goings-on below, even as his dad opened the door and inquired as to the wizards' business.

"Travers, MLE," James heard a familiar voice trail up to him. "We are searching for this boy here-" he saw Travers show his father a picture. "Sirius Black. He went missing last night, and he is wanted for several counts of underage magic..."

James' blood froze. _Missing? Wanted for underage magic? What?_

"... Any information you could provide on him would be greatly appreciated."

* * *

_"Bow. Respectfully."_

_Sirius cocked his head to the side._

_"I said," Voldemort repeated quite clearly, and something got a hold of Sirius' neck, pushing him down and forward inch by inch. "Bow, Sirius."_

_Sirius fought it, more by sheer will than strength. Voldemort was pretty impressed. Pushed harder._

_So did Sirius._

_Voldemort didn't bat a lid._

_"Bellatrix," he said instead. "Do cast an Imperius too, my dear girl."_

_"Gladly, Master. Imperio."_

It was amazing how much like Sirius she was - both shared the same kind of power. Both were born leaders. Both hated being interrupted or bossed around. Both had dreadful tempers once they got down to it. And both, loathe each other though they might, were willing to fight and die for their beliefs.

Such was the irony of life, that they'd ended up on opposite sides of the proverbial coin.

It was pretty interesting to the Dark Lord that young Sirius Black had managed to shake off the combination of two Imperius curses, even after all the precautions he himself had taken over the years. It was even more of an achievement after everything his loyal followers had already done - and he understood now why Walburga had insisted on the conditions she had chosen.

She had called him an uncontrollable hellion, amongst many other, less flattering epithets. Voldemort now knew there was more to it than that. Few ever dared to go against his direct wishes, few ever managed to refuse to enter his service when there was no hope left for them, and fewer still survived to tell the tale. None of these brave - _stupid_ \- souls had been barely a month over sixteen.

None had vanished without a trace right under the noses of his most faithful followers, either.

Oh, he was _intrigued_ by Sirius Black, despite his belief that he'd known everything there was to know about the boy, and this curiosity the boy inspired was keeping him from raging about and wanting him killed. No, once Voldemort's curiosity was spiked, he usually wanted the answers to the riddles posed. Yes, he'd wanted Sirius since he was much younger than this, had had many an interesting chat with his father over the matter years ago, when the boy had started to openly defy Orion Black, the greatest and most powerful - and by far, the darkest ever - member of the Wizengamot, who lorded over everything and everyone with an iron fist. It was once said that Orion could single-handedly upend the wizarding world, if he wanted to.

It had been clear to him, for over a decade, that his son had inherited that trait.

It made Voldemort want him in his ranks more than anything.

"Go see Alphard," he said to Bellatrix, who sneered in disgust. "Your dear uncle is close to him - and it has been a while since we last heard of the old wizard, it won't do if he's drifting towards the Light again- If Walburga is right, and Sirius is as clever as we believe him to be, then he'll have realised by now that his best chance for help is that old wizard. Make sure you find Sirius, and bring him to me, _alive_."

"But _Master_ -" she whined, cutting herself off at his dismissive gesture.

" _Alive_ , Bella," Voldemort repeated warningly. "I wish to speak to your cousin; and I assume his mother would be most _distressed_ if her eldest died so young. He is rash, and though I commonly would not do so, I shall grant him another chance. I am certain that after thinking things through, he will see that joining the cause is a far better fate than a very slow, painful death. Don't you agree?"

Bellatrix nodded, but her temper was getting the better of her. It was very amusing to watch, how she seemed to be waging an inner battle between trusting her Master and speaking her mind.

"I shall bring him here, Master," she said grudgingly. "And I'll _try_ to bring him in alive."

"I trust you will try your best, my dear Bellatrix."

"Yes, Master."

She left, a twitch going on her right temple. Voldemort chuckled. Poor Alphard, he'd be getting the full brunt of _that_.

.

* * *

TBC. R&R


	2. Part Two: Christmas Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Sirius does some B&E, Malfoy gets his nose broken, Bellatrix throws a fit, James throws a fit, and Voldemort is snappish. Oh, and Christmas is cancelled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started writing this story, we didn't know James' parents' names, or anyone's birthdays or any of the other choice tidbits that have shaped Canon over the past few years, so I named them Copernillius and Beatrice in my head, and that way they have remained for the longest time. Just for Canon compliance, I've altered them a tad. James' dad is now Fleamont Coppernillius Potter, and his mum is Euphemia Beatrice Potter, and they go by Coop and Betty. Because, wouldn't you?

**Disclaimer:** HP belongs to JK, not to me. Not making any money out of this, et cetera.

* * *

**Part Two: Christmas Eve**

* * *

 

He'd kept going, avoiding the roads, scavenging from rubbish bins and breaking into barns here and there to get some rest, though it was hard to come by. He'd run a fever, then nearly drowned trying to cross a half-frozen stream, nearly gotten run over by every other car he passed when crossing motorways... And when he finally managed to find a dry, halfway sheltered place to rest, something in him inevitably awoke, making him start at the smallest noises.

He didn't want to risk turning back to his human form, for fear the Ministry would trace him and lock him up for underage magic; being an unregistered Animagus was bad enough - he would get one year in Azkaban for that alone, and if the Ministry caught wind of him, they would waste no time in handing him over to the Death Eaters anyway: many of them worked at the Ministry, after all... And thus, he did the only thing he could do under the circumstances: run as far as he could, and hope to find a wizarding area, where he could fool the Trace.

Luck wasn't precisely on Sirius Black's side of late.

He wasn't sure how long had passed, or if he was even going in the right direction most of the time; he knew it was cold, though. And wet.

 _Ye Gods_ , it was so wet and cold and _windy_ he felt like he'd start losing toes at any minute. His fur, which usually took ages to get damp, was soaked to the skin, matted and caked with frozen bits of mud and congealing blood. Sirius couldn't quite remember what it was like to have a full stomach, or when every movement hadn't come coupled with a twinge or, as happened when he had to trot himself uphill - which happened quite a lot, even if he was supposed to be in the bloody _flatlands_ \- searing pain across his back. He was weak, tired, wet and cold, his paws freezing over, which translated into torn pads, which in turn he suspected were infected. Even his nose was numb with cold - it was sheer stubbornness what made him carry on, nothing else.

One morning though, of what day he wasn't sure but it was sunny out, his good luck had mercy on him and decided to pop by for a bit, while he was crossing a small wooded area that was surprisingly... _dry_. And devoid of wind.

Sirius was considering taking a nap - which meant roughly that he'd just flop down on the next suitable spot he found - when he heard the tell-tale cracking sound of people Apparating.

Suddenly wildly alert, he'd tried to hide from what, his mind provided, could only be Death Eaters... Until he sniffed a dish only wizards served, a sort of casserole named after some witch or other he couldn't, and didn't care to, remember.

The smell was heavenly, he noted past his dread.

"Tom, we're going to be late getting to your mother's, come on already!" he heard a female voice call impatiently. "Your brother's already gone ahead, they'll be waiting for us, and you know how she hates it when we're late." No, Sirius decided, it sounded _nothing_ like a Death Eater.

What kind of self-respecting Carrion Muncher would be called _Tom_ , anyway?

Sirius padded closer, the sudden change of his situation giving him the chance to draw on an extra reserve of energy he didn't know he had in him.

His sensitive ears pricked up attentively, eyes that retained human sharpness scanning the house just under fifty yards ahead, its neatly-trimmed bushes and properly defrosted garden path indicating that the dumpy witch in the fuchsia dress robes he was looking at was a _very good_ housekeeper.

That, in his current famished state, translated into a full pantry, and he wasn't above some breaking-in; he never had been. Right now, finding this house was a proverbial gift of the heavens.

He crept closer, paws trembling slightly as he advanced, silent as a shadow... and looking roughly like one. Or a wraith. Not that it mattered – a wizard's house meant he could get away with doing _magic_ , and there were few locks or wards he hadn't learned to pick or break without a wand. Such were the basic needs for survival at home, and for exploring Hogwarts – and whoever claimed it was all useless information and not 'real' magic - Moony - had been dead wrong.

Tom turned out to be a tall and lanky man, who was carrying a large basket, out of which came the most incredible, mouth-watering smells in creation.

He also seemed quite suitably distracted, fumbling with his wand and a pair of spectacles – _Oh_ , _good; he's near-sighted_ \- and trying to balance a thick travelling cloak and a basket of food on one hand while he clumsily put them on his nose.

"Come on already, before everything gets cold," the witch urged impatiently, and inwardly Sirius was urging him to do the same... But Tom was taking his jolly good time, adjusting parcels in his arms and shifting about, mumbling about having forgotten something or other.

Sirius crept closer, until he was level with some of the evergreen bushes lining the path to the house, and slowly ghosted his way past wards and tingling Muggle-repelling charms as he neared the door, which was still ajar.

Then luck decided to give Sirius an added push in the right direction. Tom sneezed, dropping the basket and his wand, which let out a shower of sparks, even as parcels of food flew every which way.

Sirius took a deep breath - and transformed.

Instantly, the world shifted, even as his body went from muddy, achy dog to muddy, achy boy in the space of a couple of seconds. No alarm went off, though a standard security ward did tingle a little, sensing a stranger on the grounds — Sirius focused on feeling like a welcome visitor with all his might, so the ward dismissed him the next moment; it was, as most other wards in these times, set to detect anyone with intent to harm.

Tom and his furiously shrieking wife did not notice, too busy gathering up their stuff to pay attention to anything except the parcels littering the floor. They were entirely too close to the door, though.

Sirius thought it was high time to give them a bit of a hand, otherwise they'd never leave, and sitting in inch-high snow in torn-up, wet pyjamas was starting to become torture, even if not a minute had passed; his paws as a dog might have been covered in cuts, but they were furry and designed to withstand much colder temperatures than human skin.

Sirius held his breath as the witch came dangerously close to the bush he was hiding behind. As a dog he could have pretended he was a stray, but in his human form...

"I can't believe you could be such a _klutz_ ," she snapped, reaching blindly into the bush. Looking down, Sirius saw a jar of marmalade had rolled quite close to his hand. He flicked his stiff fingers once, and the jar rolled towards the witch's hand, which found the jar, mere inches from him. She didn't notice him at all, too preoccupied with the state of the dishes she'd packed, and Tom was distressed enough mumbling his apologies.

Neither did they notice Sirius casting a disillusionment charm on himself and sneaking into their house, or the obliteration spell he cast to vanish the muddy prints he was leaving behind everywhere.

Adrenalin pumping through his veins and sharpening his every sense, Sirius quickly took in his new - _so very warm and dry and homely_ – surroundings.

There was no other living creature in sight, which was yet another stroke of luck... and though the couple outside had put the fireplace out - very neatly, too - it was warmer in here than he'd been in ages.

Even the stone floor he was standing on felt warm.

The slamming of the front door and twin _cracks_ of Tom and his wife Apparating away made Sirius give a start, but the next moment he was all over the pantry like a starving man, clumsy and stiff from all the traipsing around in the countryside.

It did not disappoint. Every type of food he could think of, every dish he had ever _dreamed_ of - it was here, or if it wasn't, there was something equally tasty to make up for it.

Famished, he made a grab for a pie that seemed to have been set aside for when Tom and the Missus returned - and the twinge of guilt he felt right before digging in vanished completely after the first bite.

When, sometime later, Sirius' body decided it was quite high time for him to go look after himself and reminded him of his rather sorry state, he was slumped against the stove, full to the brim and hardly capable of moving. All he could manage in this slow, sluggish state was a drying and warming charm, and he thought that even that much was quite a lot, all circumstances considered.

He dozed off where he sat, not bothering to go look for a more comfortable spot.

.

* * *

It was the unpleasant feeling of something digging into his back that woke him. The kitchen he was in was darkening fast, which meant it was almost late afternoon, and he hurt all over. Something he was used to by now, maybe, but it still had a way to make him miserable in a few seconds' time.

Sirius forced himself to sit up, too long on the run to be disoriented by where he'd woken up, and wandlessly lit up a handful of flames, which he let float around him, taking a tally of his state, the first since he'd jumped out of his shattered bedroom window on the fourth storey at his mother's.

His assessment was that he was a mess. He looked a mess, and he certainly felt the part too. Never mind the smell of him - but he discarded the idea of a bath. Some cleaning charms would have to do, and even that was a huge improvement, though what really saved the day here were the healing spells he could finally use on himself.

Without a wand he couldn't do all that much, never really having had an interest in healing - what else was Pomfrey around for, anyway? - and his palms were as torn up and as swollen as his paws had been earlier, making the job all the harder.

However, some efforts later, he'd managed to improve his situation rather dramatically, and found things weren't half as bad anymore.

He could move again, was no longer muddy, or wet, or cold... The gashes on his back and side were closing and no longer oozing _anything_ , and though he still felt very sore and stiff, it was loads better than before.

He didn't really want to leave this cosy house, but he knew he couldn't stay; he _was_ trespassing, and though he couldn't remember ever being in worse need, stealing wasn't really on his agenda. Or rather, stealing anything that wasn't utterly necessary - he'd nicked some of Tom's clothes, which were rather large for him, but warm and comforting all the same. He would probably help himself to some more food as well.

Before getting to that, though, he needed to find out where he was, and see if he could perhaps get a message through to James to warn him. Maybe even get one through to Alfie-

_No._

It felt wrong to send word to Alfie, though he wished more than anything to jump into the Floo and go to his uncle's house. It would be so... quick, so easy.

_Too easy._

What if they suspected Alfie would help him? What if the Munchers were there already? He'd be flooing into a trap. What if Uncle Alfie didn't want him there? What if-

Sirius steered sharply away from these thoughts, focusing on something else that had been on the forefront of his mind ever since he heard of Voldemort's plans.

 _James_.

Him, he _needed_ to warn, no matter what; he knew James was alright, but worried; Sirius had tried his hardest to block him out, something he'd done every time he went home; he didn't reckon James had ever noticed, which in turn meant he didn't know how to overcome a block of this sort either.

Then again, James had an enviable home life; going home, for him, was a _real_ holiday; his parents adored him, and all he had to look forward to were trips abroad and boatloads of fun. For Sirius, going home had always meant going back to a hellhole, and James didn't need any part in that; he didn't need to know what it was like, did he. Nobody needed that; it was bad enough living through it without dragging his best mate down every step of that road too. So Sirius had taught himself to use Occlumency to block James out whenever things got nasty for him. And whenever he was at home, things were particularly nasty all the time. And now, they had gotten worse than ever.

Still, he vividly remembered what the Munchers had been planning to do.

He didn't reckon the plan had changed - they still needed him to get to the Potters; though it was known they lived in Godric's Hall, few Death Eaters possessed the skill needed to get through their wards, and none would be welcomed on the other side - and at the moment, he reckoned the Polyjuice Potion wasn't finished brewing yet; they'd said something about Boxing Day at the earliest, though New Year's Eve was more likely. Whichever the case, it would be ready _soon_ , and Sirius had no idea when he'd get another chance to send a warning before he got to Alfie's.

Provided he ever got to Alfie's at all.

He started looking for Floo Powder, the flames he'd conjured up dancing overhead as he limped around the front room of the house. A calendar flashed at him as he passed the entrance parlour, and the clock on the mantelpiece was announcing that it was half three in the afternoon. Sirius stared at it.

_Christmas Eve._

He'd been on the run for... four days now, ever since the Yule. It had felt so much longer than that.

Something caught his eye next, wiping any other thoughts away at once.

A copy of today's _Daily Prophet_ had a note on the front cover, sandwiched between two attacks on Muggle-born families and an Auror's home: ' _Hogwarts Student Still Missing - Sirius Black Given Up for Dead_ ', he read, right over a picture of him, taken sometime the previous year, after they'd kicked Ravenclaw's arse and won the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor. Sirius watched his picture self waving the Cup around for a moment, a feeling of nostalgia welling up inside, unbidden, but not unexpected; it seemed as though he were looking at a picture of himself in another life, as if something that made him be _himself_ had died, just like the paper said.

_It was a hell of a match, that one..._

His eyes fell on the headline again, and he snorted bitterly. They were wrong. He _wasn't_ dead, and wouldn't go so easily.

_Dead, eh? Don't you just wish?_

.

* * *

.

"Dead?" Fleamont Coppernillius Potter sounded as heartbroken as his wife felt. The newspaper he held in his hands was shaking, making a rustling sound which was only broken by his wife Betty's sobs.

"I only just read," she whispered, pressing a handkerchief to her mouth, her eyes not leaving the paper. Coop read the headline, and his voice started to shake as much as his hands.

"Will you tell him?" Betty asked in a tiny voice. There was a hushed silence in the Potters' kitchen; not telling James wasn't in either of his parents' minds; rather, she was asking her husband to do it, because, "I'd just break down, I'd make it all the worse, and you know how he's been already—"

"I'll do it," Coop said, nodding, but he too was sniffling and looked incapable of raising his voice above a whisper. The elderly couple remained silent for a few moments, staring at the picture Sirius grinning back at them and waving the Quidditch Cup around. "It's just so hard to believe..." Betty nodded, giving her husband's hand a squeeze. They'd loved him as a son, and now he had been taken from them.

"What happened? What's hard to believe?"

Betty and Coop turned away from the paper and to face James, who was framed in the doorway, eyes wide as he took in his parents' teary expressions.

"No," he told them, warningly, before either could say anything; in the end, neither of them did. He strode forward, yanking the paper from his gobsmacked father's hands, eyes flying across the text, paling the further he read. "Nope," he repeated firmly, shaking his head. "This is all wrong. You'd think they'd get one thing right at least, but there you have it—it's worse than Skeeter's rubbish yesterday about Sirius going Dark."

"Sweetie, I-" Betty started gently, but cut herself off as he glared at her.

"Don't you get it, Mum?" James snapped furiously, taking the paper and throwing it on the floor. Betty gasped, never had he talked to her in such a manner. "He's not dead!" James shook his head again, took a deep breath, lowered his voice to a very civil tone that told them just how distressed he was, trying to convince himself of what he was claiming to be a fact. "He can't be—He just _can't_. Can't be dead. No. I won't have it. You shouldn't believe everything you read in the papers."

"I am sorry, son, but..."

"He _can't be dead_ , Dad. Not like this. I'd have known—and I know – I _know_ he's not dead, alright?" James was almost daring him to contradict, glaring at his father as if his opinion would change the terrible news they had just received. Coop took a deep breath, but it did little to steady his voice.

"It's not that I don't believe _you_ , son," he said gently, ignoring James' wordless mouthing. "It's just that it's been so long, and he hasn't been found by the Aurors—"

"THAT DOESN'T MEAN HE'S _DEAD_! It's _SIRIUS_ , not just _anyone_!" James shouted. "Have some faith at least—If not in the Aurors, then in _him_! That's the least you owe him!" He stormed out of the kitchen, skidding to a halt by the door and turning to point a warning finger at his parents, who stared at him with a mixture of pity and terrible sadness, yet not a shred of hope.

" _Not_. Dead." James glowered at them. "Got it? That's the last time I'm going to tell you. Just you wait. You'll see soon enough." That said, he turned on his heel and stomped upstairs to his bedroom.

.

* * *

.

The article started off with a tragic story - of a distressed, heartbroken mother, a desolate brother, and a terribly saddened, pureblood family, and then went on about him as though he'd been a poor moron of the best sort, stressing that nobody could believe the devastating and abrupt loss of 'such a promising young life'.

Sirius couldn't believe the amount of rubbish he was reading.

They were sure he was dead now, and the Aurors were only hoping to be able to ' _find and return the body to the devastated family_ '. Hoping that Voldemort would be kind enough to return his corpse.

It was _ridiculous_.

"Whatever," Sirius heard himself mutter, surprised at how hoarse his voice was coming out. He tossed the paper aside, shaking his head. He knew what this meant, why he was being given up for dead: When the Death Eaters found him, they would kill him.

_Thanks for the heads-up._

"Now to what really matters..."

It was then that loud knocking made him give a start - and looking through the window, he saw a familiar feathery face pecking at the sill.

" _Al_?" he wondered aloud, frowning.

Sirius hobbled closer, a handful of spells at the tip of his tongue, though none ever made it out: It was James' owl alright, looking as windswept and half-frozen as Sirius had been himself. Though part of him was glad because that meant that he didn't need to carry on looking for Floo Powder, he was well acquainted with magical tracking means, and his first thought was that Al could be intercepted.

And yet - It was a message. A message from _James_. It meant contact with the one person he'd been trying to avoid thinking about, the person he missed most, it meant... He wasn't sure what it meant, exactly, but it made his insides turn most unpleasantly, as opposed to the initial thrill he'd felt in his gut.

Anxious all of a sudden, he opened the window anyhow, fingers clumsily fumbling with the string as he untied the scroll from the owl's leg.

Leaving Alcyone to help herself to some left-over pie, he turned to read it, throat tied into knots before he'd even unrolled it.

The message was short, dated a couple of days earlier.

_Send word whenever you get this._

Hands trembling, Sirius took a quill and ink from the counter, turning the scroll around. All he could think of, was what the Great Bastarding Sodhead wanted to do to James and his family. This chance to get a message through so much sooner than he'd thought was as unexpected as it was welcome.

 _Great Sod,_ Sirius scribbled, his hand stiff and cramped up, making his writing almost impossible to read. James would manage, though. He always did, and Sirius was doing his best here. _Don't write, not coming. Launcelot dead. Munchers have tats, eat snakes with the left. Hit home at G.H. Be sensitive, Prongs, look out for my juicy dance by the fireplace or outside, it can be dominated too._

It was almost a telegram, the code was pathetically lousy, but there was no time for niceties or proper form, or, Merlin forbid, rubbing his already frayed brain cells together to come up with something that could be termed _clever_. He didn't want Alcyone intercepted - didn't want to help make any of what Voldemort had promised to do come true. And if there was one thing he knew about the Sodhead, was that he never made idle promises. Threats. Same thing.

Chapped lips pressed tightly together, Sirius struggled with the string to tie the scroll to the owl's leg, opening the window again to let it fly out.

Several things happened then in quick succession: Sirius disillusioned Alcyone, who took to the skies at once, hooting her farewell at him. Sirius' luck decided it had been around for entirely too long and left, not bothering to hoot anything at all. And, most noticeably, a sharp tingle of Dark Magic made Sirius freeze mid-movement.

Not a second later, the kitchen exploded.

"Get him!" a voice screeched, even as Sirius, who'd been knocked off his feet by the blast, scrambled to regain his bearings, dodged a burning beam that came crashing down by mere inches and rolled out of the way of whichever spells that wouldn't be long in coming, coughing and gasping for air. "By the window, over there!"

He was covered in dust, debris, and bits of glass, and his disillusionment charm only helped so much now. Cursing, he re-cast it, pressing himself against the half-destroyed, burning counter as figures as familiar as his own friends started casting detection spells.

_Oh, shite..._

"Where are you, little cousin?"

The Munchers had tracked him down.

.

* * *

.

Christmas cheer had been wiped from the Potters' for days, ever since the MLE had dropped by, asking about details on Sirius' whereabouts, bringing the news that he was officially considered missing.

This morning's Prophet, which had covered Sirius' story rather extensively for some reason, hadn't helped matters one jot. If the air at Godric's Hall had been mournful before, it just became worse after the morning edition was dropped on the breakfast table.

Sirius was dead, it claimed. Though James knew this wasn't true, it still hit him hard; there was nothing else to prove he was right, whereas there was extensive proof that said he _wasn't_. Condolences kept flying in, from school friends and acquaintances. Even Madam Rosmerta sent hers, along with a large parcel of James' favourite comfort foods, which he'd refused to touch.

Three days was the longest that the Ministry spared Aurors to search for anyone, though for some reason they had been searching for Sirius for four now, perhaps because of the family he belonged to. And yet, once someone went missing, after three days, they weren't expected to still be alive; they were just looking to recover Sirius' body by now.

His _body_. James scrubbed his hands over his face, heaving a sigh. He couldn't just lap the story up, not while he knew Sirius was alive—but clinging to hope was getting harder by the minute.

Remus didn't have a clue yet - The full moon had been on the day Sirius disappeared. It had been a bad one, according to Remus' mum - without his mates to keep him company, he'd gone wild - and he'd been out of it for most of the last few days.

She wouldn't tell him, either. Not until later. Whenever that was.

James couldn't object to that.

Peter had already been in touch, but even the long firecall had not made James' mood improve, quite the opposite. Peter lived near Cornwall, though, maybe Sirius was headed there...?

James heaved a frustrated sigh, leaning against the backrest of a settee, clutching the sides without realising it, looking at the Christmas decorations all around him.

It all felt... _wrong_.

How could _anyone_ celebrate Christmas like this? Hell, how could anyone celebrate _anything_ like this?

James hadn't wondered, and he hadn't moved from his spot by the window in the upstairs parlour either. Even when his parents had managed to coax him downstairs to eat, he had kept staring out of the nearest window, as if Alcyone wouldn't return if he looked away for five minutes.

James' thoughts weren't dwelling on whether or not Sirius was dead. He _wasn't_ , that was one thing he was sure of; it was quite possibly the only thing he was certain of right now.

Why then hadn't Alcyone returned? And why, if he'd always managed to tell before, didn't he have the faintest clue as to where Sirius could be now?

_A cry rent the air, even as a tidy, well-stocked kitchen blew up in a cloud of flame and dust._

_Confusion. Burning. Pain._

_Glimpses of a half-destroyed kitchen as Sirius scrambled aside, narrowly missing a burning beam that collapsed in the middle of the room while trying to gather his thoughts, casting a disillusionment charm-_

_"Where are you, little cousin?"_

Fear flared up, just like the flames he was seeing in his mind's eye.

"Sirius." James whispered, paling. He was in danger, and he was in danger _right this minute_.

.

* * *

.

" _Oh, h_ _ere you are_ , Sirius." The drawl and would-be cordial tone were expected, the sudden dread they caused, though, was new to him. "You've made many of us go through a lot of trouble, and that during the holidays." Lucius Malfoy shook his head, white teeth gleaming in the firelight as he pointed his wand straight at Sirius' nose. "That is very inconsiderate of you."

It was perhaps, a good thing he was mostly invisible, because Lucius completely missed the way every last drop of blood had drained from Sirius' face.

"He'll make a very good present for our Lord, won't he?" Cissy asked, giggling in a way that was entirely too stupid for a Seventh-year girl.

"Can we just go now?" Flint muttered in annoyance. Not one year out of Hogwarts, and he was already wanted for several counts of murder; such was the way of the world at the time. Not that Sirius had time to contemplate that thought. "Take the damn kid already," Flint added, and Lucius, usually so loath to obey anyone's orders, reached out to grab him-

Sirius reacted out of pure instinct. His right fist shot forward, unseen by all until Lucius' nose broke with a sick sort of crunch, head snapping back with the force of the blow.

Narcissa gave a startled yelp, Flint cursed, and Malfoy...

Malfoy shrieked like an enraged girl.

Sirius had precious little time to waste, even less chances at escaping this time around - but he tried nonetheless, plunging into the still burning front room, in the hopes to lose them in the smoke. His – still bare – feet seared at the contact with burning debris, but he didn't stop.

"Get back here!"

As if he'd listen.

A flick of his wrist made some of the caved-in ceiling come alive, an added gesture with his fingers making the flames shoot up man-high as the blocks and beams of what had once been a kitchen sped towards the Death Eaters.

Shrieks and cursing was all he heard, but Sirius didn't stop to look. Once more he jumped out the nearest window, rolling as he hit the ground, welcoming the icy wind and snow, which stopped the burning in his feet at once.

He had barely raffled himself up, when someone tackled him from behind, making him land hard on the ground.

Crabbe.

Or maybe Goyle, they were equally dim... and large.

"I got him, Lucius!" the young man bellowed, as Sirius struggled frantically to get free. Crabbe just redoubled his grip on him. Sirius cried out, ribs cracking under the vice-like grip.

"B'ing 'im 'ere!" Lucius shouted furiously, and Crabbe complied at once.

"Let go," Sirius demanded at a wheeze, still struggling to get free, frantically thinking of a way out of this new fix.

Bella was strolling out of the still flaming, destroyed house like there was nothing wrong with the world, and Cissy came out right after. Though she hadn't joined up with the Death Eaters yet, she'd do so as soon as she left school at the end of this year, Sirius was certain. She was as good as one of them already - and so was her boyfriend, Lucius Malfoy.

Who sported a bleeding nose, Sirius noted absently with something akin to wild satisfaction.

"You'll bay fod dis," Lucius said, and despite the situation, Sirius snorted. Once again, his overlarge mouth opened, except the inner Sirius was too tired of this game to try and prevent him from it.

" _You_ should 'bay fod dis'," Sirius mimicked him at a wheeze. "Nose jobs cost a fortune these days- _ungh_." The blow hit him on the side of the head, leaving his ears ringing and the world spinning madly.

"Restrain him," Lucius snapped, even as he and the girls trained their wands on Sirius. Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius saw other shadowy figures approaching—

This was getting beyond ugly.

Heart hammering in his throat and hardly able to breathe, Sirius knew he was lost. Only a miracle could save him, and those were very rare of late...

He heard an incantation being said, saw ropes snake out of a wand and start curling around him- if only he could clear his head—

Sirius didn't need to, as it turned out; instinct was as valid as a well thought-out plan these days, and he'd take whatever chance he could get. As soon as he felt the ropes start snaking around his arms, he transfigured them into real snakes, which went for Crabbe's face at once. The next second, he had landed on the frozen ground and started scrambling away, while Crabbe's screams and flailing caused enough of a commotion to allow him to escape.

Air burning as it filled his lungs and black specks swimming before his eyes, Sirius dodged and rolled from entirely too many spells to get away from. Stunners and Hammer Hexes cut the air thickly, as well as Shocking Spells, Imperius Curses, Cruciatus Curses, Slashing Curses... Even a Jelly-Legs Jinx flew past his nose.

He couldn't dodge them all, even if he could recognise most of the spells as they were cast. Flattening himself against the ground to avoid a Stunning Spell, he was propelled forward by a Hammer Hex which drew all air from his lungs yet again, and felt something burning hot slice through his right arm a split second later. Still, he didn't stop, throwing himself over a hedge—

Which blew up into tiny pieces immediately after.

By then, Sirius had managed to transform, and stopped running, suddenly capable of smelling the burning and anger and sheer hatred that filled the air. Instead, he ducked as low as he could, making for a nearby cluster of bushes; he'd never manage to get very far in this state.

"Where did he go?!" echoed in his ears, and though any other time he'd have had a quip or three to respond, this time Sirius only slunk back into the shadows.

He could already hear the tracking spells being cast, and seconds later, Bella's furious shriek of rage as they brought back nothing.

Once more, Sirius had vanished right under their noses.

Shaking and now bleeding freely from his shoulder and front leg, Sirius put all four paws to good use, disappearing in a small nearby thicket. All around him, there were cracks of Death Eaters Disapparating, shouts of them arguing amongst themselves about where he could be, searching for him, casting all sorts of spells – and, eventually, giving up.

The Dark Mark shimmered ghostly green in the sky, around the ruins of Tom's house as the first Ministry officials arrived, searching the remains of the place for survivors. They didn't expect to find anyone, though, and didn't bother looking too hard.

From under a bush a few handfuls of yards away, Sirius lay panting, his fur coated with a small layer of the snow that had started falling. He'd escaped again, and mostly in one piece, too.

In that aspect at least, his good luck was still with him.

.

* * *

.

"Won't you come down for dinner?" James' father called up the stairs in Godric's Hall.

"I'm not hungry," James called back automatically, briefly wondering how mealtimes seemed to flit by, even when time was definitely dragging its arse.

The footsteps coming up the stairs went ignored, but the _Daily Prophet_ James' dad picked up and then tossed on the coffee table again was harder to overlook.

"Listen son," Coop Potter said heavily, sitting down next to him on the sofa. "You can't keep missing meals like this. I know you're worried. We all are," he added, holding up a hand to stop James before he could even start protesting. "I'm not saying he's dead. I believe you... I'll go to the Ministry again tomorrow, and I'll try and talk to his mother. Maybe there is some news that hasn't been published in the papers."

"Thanks, Dad," James mumbled, eyes drifting towards the window once more.

Fleamont Copernillius Potter watched his son in silence for a moment. He'd never been so downcast, had perhaps never had a reason to, until now. Sure, they'd all known Sirius' family was of the darkest sort, but they had overlooked it, forgotten about it. It was easy to do when faced with the hyperactive, cheerful boy who had become James' best-ever friend; there was no Darkness in Sirius Black, anyone who'd ever met him for longer than five minutes could attest to that.

And yet, he had been given up for dead, after having vanished from home. There were rumours, about the Dark Lord having killed him, and the reasons for this ranged from the probable - because Sirius had refused him - to the plausible - because Sirius had snubbed him - to the most incredible of tales - that he had left to join up with the Dark Side, or that he'd turned tail and fled after being caught Muggle-baiting. Most of these harebrained stories had been cooked up by Rita Skeeter, a junior correspondent for the _Prophet_ , who was making the situation all the harder on those involved.

Nevertheless, no matter how tall the tales, they'd made the dent in James' mood grow ever larger. Made the fact that Alcyone hadn't returned for days after having been ordered to find Sirius no matter what, all the harder to bear.

"Your Mum's leaving you some food with the elves," Coop said as the silence stretched between them, heavy and hopeless. "You should at least try to eat something, and get some rest. You'll see, things will look up in the morning."

"Yes Dad." James didn't mean it, eyes now fixed on the picture of Sirius on the _Prophet's_ front page, which he himself had provided. Coop left, defeated and every bit as worried as his son, unable to think of anything to say or do to make him feel better. Empty hopes were just that, and he had never been one to feed those to anyone, much less his own son.

Left alone, James didn't bother moving. His mind was still on Sirius, the attack earlier - because that's what it had been - had left him deeply rattled. There had been no more flashes of Sirius since, only the occasional sense of pain, of darkness, of being... lost.

_But lost where?_

It was almost as if Sirius didn't _want_ to be found, or as if something were blocking a link they had nurtured and strengthened to the point of near-complete empathy. He _always_ knew what was up with Sirius, and Sirius _always_ knew what was up with him.

 _Always_.

Until now.

It bothered James more than anything. What did this mean, if Sirius didn't _want_ to be found?

.

* * *

.

It had been, on the whole, one of his worse ideas, but he'd found it very necessary; he'd been wet and cold and starving for days now, and regret though he might his choice of sneaking into that house now, at the time it had been a life-saver.

Now though, it was just one more reason to be pretty hopeless at the state of things; much as he'd needed to look after himself, to get dry and warm and procure some food to put into his stomach and some warmer clothes on his back, not a handful of hours later, Sirius was back on square one. Or not quite there; he wasn't cold, which was a definite improvement. That warming charm had been one of his better ideas.

For as long as it held, it would make his life less of a royal mess than it had amounted to.

Night had fallen, and he had no way of telling the time. His sense of direction seemed to have left him along with his luck, because he had no idea where he was, and the cut along his arm hadn't stopped bleeding, added to the ones he had already healed with his half-arsed spells, they were making every movement hellish.

 _At least I got a message throug_ _h to James_ , he thought, but the feeling of relief faded fast in the face of his next thought. _If they didn't get Al too._

Alphard lived near a place called Pict's Cross, but without anything to indicate where he was, Sirius had no way of telling whether he was getting closer or hopelessly lost.

Still he plodded on in the darkness, his puffing breathing the only sound in the silence, until, guided by scents and sounds, he reached a small town, which glowed warm and welcoming in the complete darkness.

From most of these houses poured music and warm light, which was perhaps the reason he limped along gardens and streets; he wasn't fool enough to believe that just because he was trudging along Muggle streets he'd be safe, but the lights, the music, the smells of food and people talking and laughing _were_ heartening.

Sirius was ready to collapse where he stood, when he reached a small roundabout. The post office and church looked familiar - as did the huge Christmas tree that adorned the centre of the small elevation.

Suddenly, he realised he knew where he was.

.

* * *

_._

_"We interrupt our Christmas Special for a breaking broadcast. Earlier today, the house of Tom and Janine Stanton near Four Oaks, in Newent, Gloucestershire, was attacked by Death Eaters. This makes the toll rise to sixty attacks in the past month alone..."_

James' head snapped up from where he had been resting it on his arms, nearly upending the bowl of Christmas pudding he had been instructed to help whip up (and, of course, hadn't).

His father had been busy talking to people all afternoon, trying to figure out Sirius' whereabouts, as he had since the 22nd of December, when they'd gotten the news that Sirius had gone missing.

 _"...It was a stroke of luck that Tom and his wife Janine had left to celebrate the holiday at Mrs. Laurelia Stanton's, and aside from the destruction of the house, there was no loss of life during this attack, which has boggled Aurors and Officers alike. The Stantons, a well-known pureblood family..."_ James stopped listening, rushing out of the kitchen to get a map, almost bowling one of the elves over in the process.

_Gloucestershire? Could it be...?_

That was close to where Sirius' uncle Alphard lived.

"Dad, have you been in touch with Sirius' uncle Alphard?" James shouted, interrupting a chat the elderly wizard was having with - who cared who it was, really? His dad excused himself, pulling his head out of the fireplace.

"He's been out of reach for over a week," Coop answered. He and Alphard were old school friends. "Took a sabbatical; nobody even knows if he's in the country. Why?"

Moments later, they were both poring over James' map. If Sirius was indeed headed for Pict's Cross and Alphard was gone... He'd need every ounce of help he could get.

.

* * *

.

"He escaped _again_?" Voldemort's tone was one of utter disbelief. Shivering and cowed, Lucius and his six companions nodded.

"We _had him_ , Master," Bellatrix muttered furiously. "He simply... vanished."

"I thought he was without a wand?" Voldemort retorted, anger flashing in his red eyes.

"He is – At least I think so," said Bella, who had no reason to fear her Lord, or so she seemed to believe. "What I don't understand is why his Trace hasn't alerted us-"

"I did not ask for your speculations," snapped Voldemort, making her flinch back with a mumbled apology, which he waved away impatiently. "If he apparated away, then that means he has a wand, or are you telling me he can do magic without?" Seven heads shook as one; believing the Black brat could apparate was one thing, but magic without a wand? _That_ was just laughable.

"That's what I thought. He will be headed to the Potters, I am sure, or maybe Alphard's," the Dark Lord mused aloud. "He isn't even that far away- Intercept every one of Alphard's and the Potters' owls, watch their every move. If they are in touch with him then I want to be the first to know. And Lucius, get that nose of yours fixed. Your loud breathing is giving me a headache – While you're at it, make a list of every magical household in the area." To everyone's surprise, the Dark Lord smiled, nodding to himself. "We'll see where he's going soon enough. If he is as clever as I think he is, and is _not_ headed for Godric's Hollow, we shall find out."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Go, then. And keep me informed of every new development as you find it—at this rate, I shall have to fetch him myself."

* * *

TBC. R&R

 


	3. Happy Christmas, Padfoot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Sirius goes to Alfie's, Bella goes to Alfie's, James proves he's a good codebreaker, James' parents are endearingly confused, we meet Ellie the house elf, and one Mr. Potter pranks the Dark Side. All of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe isn't mine., it's JK's and the Sunshine Band's. Or whoever happens to be her associate. I just borrowed her universe and twisted it a little more.

* * *

 

**Part Three: Happy Christmas, Padfoot**

 

* * *

 

" _AL'S BACK_!" James' voice tore through the graveyard silence Godric's Hall had been plunged into like a bomb alarm.

Or a bomb, for all the sudden exaltation it caused.

After hours of poring over one of Coop's maps the day before and trying to reach the wizarding families in the area, to alert them in case they saw Sirius at all, and even longer hours spent casting every tracing and tracking spell they knew without success, the Potters had given up any hope that Sirius had even been near the Stantons' house.

They'd had a very quiet Christmas brunch, and these were the first words James uttered since his mumbled 'morning' hours earlier. He hadn't opened any of his presents, none of them had; their heart just wasn't in the celebration they usually loved so much. Instead, all three Potters had spent their time mourning and fretting, and the traditional Christmas foods Betty made every year had gone largely ignored.

She'd carried on cooking, though – it helped her keep her mind off things, or so she claimed. Nobody commented on the fact that her teary-eyed face was impossible to overlook despite the excellent meals she prepared; her face reflected what they were all feeling, and James did not have the heart to remind her that Sirius _wasn't_ dead. What good would come of it, anyway? His parents had found it hard to so much as carry on pretending that they held any hope Sirius was alive, and James himself had all the more trouble clinging to hope as the hours ticked by.

This hadn't been made any easier by the continued string of condolences he kept receiving. Owls were coming and going non-stop, dropping off parcels and letters, most of which had a tell-tale black ribbon on them, and the fireplace in James' room kept ringing its bells, indicating someone was calling. It was torture for him; Every firecall, every owl fluttering around outside made him jump up, thinking, hoping that maybe— _maybe_ —this time it was something from Sirius.

There was no sign of him at all, however, and every time James shuffled away from the fireplace all the more dejectedly, his heart sinking yet another notch.

Worst of all had been the arrival of his best friends' Christmas presents that very morning. Sirius' was prominent amongst them, heavier than the rest and wrapped in a large red box with little prancing deer on it and a bow singing heavily-edited carols (Sirius' speciality), delivered by a black owl very much like Sirius' own Launcelot. It had made James' hopes rise for a few seconds, until he recognised the bird as a school owl and felt his mood drop below ground level.

Sirius had been wanted at home for Christmas once before, and he'd left his presents at school to be delivered by the Hogwarts owls then too, in case he didn't manage to send them off in time; no matter how things were at his parents', he'd made sure things happened even without him around. Clearly, this time had been no different.

James hadn't touched his present, refusing to believe the hand-charmed card that came with it would be the last thing he ever received from his best mate. However, none of that managed to keep him from glancing at it every so often, as if it would answer the one question he was dying to hear the answer to.

To top it off, not an hour earlier, Sirius' present, which James had sent off the night before just in the off-chance it did reach him, had returned rather battered and torn... and unopened, delivered by an equally battered-looking owl that had refused to take any more letters anywhere. The lumpy box now sat by the tree on Sirius' pile next to his parents' presents and cards, and it was the worst by far to look at; it told James he couldn't really hope for much right now.

In between fire-calls – during which he'd had to watch a handful of girls burst into tears over Sirius' death, learned that Peter's present to Sirius had also returned unopened, and that the Aurors would be stopping the search for him in the afternoon – he had been pacing, cursing at mid-voice, staring out the window, trying – and failing – to get a reading on Sirius... and along the way, he had also lost all hope for the first time in days.

Until now.

Things had changed dramatically over the past few seconds.

James had stared _through_ Al for a handful of minutes, wondering where the insistent pecking and hooting was coming from, until it hit him; it wasn't the first time Sirius had disillusioned an owl to get a message through to him, after all.

That fact alone made James' hopes soar.

An icy gust blew into the front room as he opened the window wide, even as his parents hurried in from the kitchen. Christmas ornaments went flying and the tree swayed ominously, but nobody paid it any mind. All eyes were fixed on the see-through owl James was holding.

"Hold still, Al..." James undid the disillusionment charm even as the window slammed shut, thrilled as he recognised Sirius' magic behind it, while his parents looked at each other, half disbelieving, half willing to hope the whole world was wrong and Sirius was, indeed, alright. Just the fact that Alcyone was disillusioned meant... Well, it meant Sirius was alive at least, and capable of doing magic.

That _had_ to be good news, right?

"Dear Lord, what happened to her?" asked Betty, once the bird came into full view. Al's usually sleek and well-groomed coat was singed and there were bits of rubble amidst her feathers, which came loose as she hooted feebly and fluttered to Coop's arms, as she always did when she felt under the weather.

James stared at her for a moment, throat closing over and excitement fading fast at the bedraggled sight of his owl, as the reality of what was going on sank in once more.

"I told you he was in trouble," he informed his parents at a mutter, unrolling the scroll, which turned out to be the same one he'd sent off days before.

It was blank, but rolled up the other way, so... He cast a counter-spell to Sirius' concealment charm. Lines and smudges of dirt started snaking across the parchment, written in a blotchy, shaky, barely legible scrawl. He had to squint to make out the words, which made his hopes drop again.

_Great Sod,_

_Don't write, not coming. Launcelot dead. Munchers have tats, eat snakes with the left. Hit home at G.H. Be sensitive, Prongs, look out for my juicy dance by the fireplace or outside, it can be dominated too._

"Wha...?" James stared at the message, which didn't only look like Sirius had tried to write it in dog form... It made no sense at first sight, and contrary to what most people seemed to think, this wasn't the norm with his best mate.

"What is it, son?"

"What does it say?"

"It... I don't know, it doesn't make any sense," James mumbled. "It... it's some sort of... Hang on."

Betty and Coop were already reading over James' shoulder. Or at least, trying to.

"You can _read_ that?"

"Are you sure it's his?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. He says..." James frowned, fighting a growing lump in his throat. "Well, he says Voldemort is after him. He calls him the Great Sodhead, and..." Coop snorted, but went completely ignored. "And... He says not to write. That he's not coming here... And that his owl's dead..."

"Sweet Merlin," breathed Betty, while Coop added, "He says all of that in that tiny scrap of parchment?" James forced himself not to dwell on either of their comments, clinging to the one thing he knew for sure - Sirius was neither dead nor caught.

_Yet._

"Yeah," he whispered anyway. "And... and, um. He says... Says the Death Eaters... have... cats? Huh." He squinted at the parchment some more. "No, it's 'tats'...? Tats, yeah."

"They have _what_?"

"Tats. Tattoos." James frowned. That was new. "Eat snakes? What's that supposed to mean?"

"You mean, like... on the Dark Mark? You know, the skull has a snake coming out of its mouth."

"Yeah, that's it!" James looked at his mother, impressed. Betty just shrugged. "They've got to have a tattoo of the Dark Mark, or a snake, on their left arm, or leg, or left _something_. That's got to be it."

"How would he know _that_?"

"Do you really want to find out, honey?"

James ignored his parents, busy staring at the next sentence.

"And he says... _Oh bugger_." All colour drained from his face. "They are planning an attack."

"Where does it say _that_?"

"Attack? Where?"

"When?" Al fluttered away as Betty and Coop came even closer, looming over James' shoulder, but still unable to make anything out of the scribbles.

"Hit home at G.H.," James breathed. "Godric's Hall. Merlin, that's here! That's _us_! 'Be sensitive'. Be _sensitive_." James now sounded rather crazed, thinking hard. "We have to... to tweak the wards – _Oh_."

Suddenly everything made a terrible sort of sense.

He turned to look at his parents, aghast. They looked back at him, worried and terribly confused, valiantly trying to keep up with him all the same.

"They... they're using Polyjuice to turn into him – 'my juicy dance', that's what it's got to be. 'Look out for my juicy dance by the fireplace or outside.' That's what it's got to be, Dad!"

"The Death Eaters are polyjuicing themselves into _Sirius_?" His dad sounded incredulous. "How would that help them in any way?"

"We _did_ put up wards that let him in, though, honey." Despite it all, Betty sounded more centred and reasonable than either of the others. "And they might have found out, seeing as Sirius has been here before, and we would let him in without a question... We'd welcome him with open arms."

James sank into a chair. He'd finished dissecting Sirius' message.

"So that's why he's on the run – they're trying to cast the Imperius Curse on him to do that," he mumbled. "'Watch my juicy dance by the fire or outside, it can be dominated too'. It means... I think it means they want to get him to break the wards and to us, or to use polyjuice... Probably if the Imperius doesn't work."

"Good gracious..." James' mum sat down next to him. "They would do that? Aren't they his... his _family_?"

James snorted without much humour, nodding.

"His mum usually puts him under the curse to get him to do any number of things," he said hollowly. "Mostly to get him to behave at parties, or to tidy up his room. Or just for fun."

"I didn't know..."

"It's not the sort of thing he likes to talk about," James said impatiently, still staring at the scroll. "He can throw it off, though... Or at least, he's done it a few times." He ignored his dad's raised eyebrows. Impressive though the feat may be, James had other things to worry about at the moment. "But if Voldemort is after him, then... He wants him to get to us... He's trying to get Sirius..." He swallowed dryly, looking completely drained. "That's what I saw."

"What did you see?"

"The Death Eaters... Sirius and I have this, this... I don't know how to explain. We have this link of sorts, and... He's been blocking it," James told them, and it was impossible to hide the reproach in his tone; he didn't like that part of the arrangement at all. "But I've been getting bits and pieces of what's going on, it's usually not much because he blocks me out right away, but... I saw Death Eaters attacking him, a few times."

"When?"

"Yesterday around four, that... that was the last time I saw anything." James whispered, and then took a deep breath.

"Is he-"

"Oh, he's alive," James said at once, ruffling his hair, as he always did when he was nervous or trying to figure something out. "But he's hurt, and... and he's not coming here, not if he's afraid they'll get to us through him—" He shook his head. "We need to find him, Dad."

"How can we do that?" It was a question they'd all asked hundreds of times before over the past few days. Never with this sort of determination, though. His parents were finally starting to see there were solid reasons for James' firm conviction that Sirius was alive, starting to realise there was more to this than what met the eye, but most importantly, they were starting to believe him at last, starting to _hope_.

"I don't know," James admitted, staring into the flames dancing in the grate for a moment, before getting up and walking to the fireplace. "We need to seal these off. Ward them, at the very least."

"But James, what if he tries to—" Betty started, alarmed.

"He won't come over the Floo, not if he believes it will put us in danger. He's trying to help us stay safe," Coop said heavily, catching on to what James meant. "I'll seal the fireplaces, and re-set the wards, so nobody who looks like him can come through, and then... We'll look for him."

.

* * *

 

He'd spent the night in a garden shed someone had accidentally left open, frightening a handful of rats out of their wits when he stumbled inside, dripping wet and barely able to walk. He couldn't – nor did he care to – remember what had happened from the moment he'd pawed the door closed, but he must have fallen asleep at some point; it wasn't until he heard some children having a snowball fight outside that he so much as stirred.

It had been a strange sight, looking in on Muggle kids playing in the snow without a care in the world. Not that he had much of a mind for any sort of thoughts beyond that simple fact. He'd watched them in a detached sort of daze until a female voice called them back inside and then he'd left, making his slow way towards Alfie's.

He followed brightly-lit streets covered in frost, the gaudy, bright decorations on Muggle houses contrasting starkly with the numbness that had been steadily taking over his mind. Nobody saw him as he made his way across one village, then another, little more than a ragged shadow slinking past garden fences. Snatches of conversations and music reached his ears, but none of what he heard had registered for hours; the lights reflecting in the iced-over puddles and patches of snow were random blurs by now, and even the smell of food issuing from every other household had stopped eliciting any sort of reaction.

All he was alert for were the Death Eaters returning, or being seen. All he cared about was reaching Alfie's house; everything else was unimportant and thus, went overlooked.

Sirius had a hard enough time just putting one paw in front of the other and keeping a more or less straight line to Pict's Cross, without worrying himself with anything else. He couldn't feel much of anything either, just a steady sort of tiredness and an ever-increasing wish to just get this _over with_ , whatever the outcome was. He just didn't care anymore.

All of that ended the second he spotted the crooked weather vane on top of Alfie's house in the distance. Seeing it startled him; he hadn't expected to reach the place for another eternity and a half, and he'd been plodding along in a daze, so that it was as if the uneven garden fence that was covered in evergreen bushes had just popped up before him out of thin air.

Sirius stopped, suddenly realising how cold it was, how tired he was, how much he just wanted to go somewhere dry and pass out—

And it was this fact which just might have saved his hide yet again.

He was about to transform and call at Alfie's door, when the familiar voice he'd learned to hate so much trailed to his ears from the other side of the solid wooden fence he'd just reached.

"If you know what's good for you," Bellatrix was saying smoothly, "you'll hand him over. We _know_ he's coming here, Alfie," she added, and Sirius froze in his tracks. "Or else, he's on his way. You always had a soft spot for him, hmm?" There was a pause, during which Sirius crept closer to the fence, the better to hear. "I would hate to have to gut you in front of your ragged house-elf. It's Christmas after all... _And_ you're family." The way she finished that sentence told Sirius volumes as to what she thought of the concept.

"Bellatrix," he heard another voice, equally familiar, but one he'd always associated with help, support, protection. One that was trembling with fear. "I've told you before— _he's not here_ , he never was. He wouldn't be so stupid, would he? I'm the most obvious choice, aren't I?"

Sirius could tell even from this distance that Alfie was just babbling away at her to buy himself time. He slunk around a corner, to a spot where the bushes had always grown more sparsely – and then he saw them.

Alphard's garden was a mess, as was the outside of his house, which looked like it had been set on fire and only barely put out. The front door was hanging off one hinge, and some of the windows were broken.

Shuddering, Sirius turned his attention to his uncle, who didn't look hurt, maybe, but his hair was dishevelled, his clothes torn and tattered... His expression, one of earnest fear.

Save for the eyes.

There was a glint in them, Sirius saw, as the old wizard scanned the garden, one he'd learnt to read long ago. The place might be a broken mess, but Alfie wasn't, not yet. Even if Bellatrix' wand was pushed against his chest.

"This is the last time I'm asking you, _uncle_ ," Bellatrix snarled. "Where is he?"

"What makes you think I'd know? From what I heard, you've already killed him twice over," said Alfie. Around Bellatrix, some Death Eaters laughed. Sirius instinctively backed away against a tree's trunk, but couldn't tear his eyes away.

A sense of failure swept over him, staggering and draining.

All the effort he'd made to get here, all he'd been through... and it had been for _nothing_.

Now Alfie was deep in it, and as much as Sirius would love to help him—how _could_ he, he could barely stand—there was nothing he could do except stand by and watch his last hope for help vanish before his eyes. He cast a last, defeated look at him—

And froze.

Alfie was looking straight _at_ him, and for a second, it was as if there was no hedge separating them at all. Sirius stared back, and did he imagine it, or was Alfie _glad_ to see him?

 _Don't sell me out,_ the inner Sirius was all but screaming, what other reason would Alfie have to be _happy_ to see him in a moment like this? Sure he was family, but then, so was his own mother, and look what she had done. _Don't sell me out. Not you too, not you. Please._

 _Don't move_ , the eyes told him, rooting him to the spot. _Stay put and be quiet, help is coming. I won't sell you out, don't be stupid._

Alfie was an accomplished Occlumens, an even better Legilimens – he'd taught Sirius everything about that, hadn't he? – and he was one of the few people who knew Sirius was an Animagus, so perhaps it wasn't all that surprising that he'd recognised him. What was, though, was that he'd seen him through the hedge—

"Look for him, then," Alfie said aloud, breaking the connection before Sirius could even think of anything to think back at him. "Be my guests. I'm not hiding him here, nor would I."

Sirius dearly hoped he didn't mean that last.

He watched the Death Eaters march inside, heard the noises of things breaking as they turned the large old house inside out, looking for him, heard them yelling at each other to turn this shelf over, or look behind that portrait...

Alfie stood by his door, clad in a bathrobe and slippers as torn-up as his house, glaring at Bellatrix.

"Tell them to tone it down," he said warningly. "I doubt your master will be happy to hear you lot are tearing down ancient heirlooms."

"As if he'd listen to _you_ ," snarled Bellatrix, in a mocking tone that made Sirius shiver despite himself. "My Master doesn't believe the word of traitors."

"Strange," said Alfie. "I thought he was well-enough versed in Legilimency to see truth when he hears it. At the rate you're going, I wouldn't even have to lie."

"What's that going to accomplish?" She retorted, scanning the old wizard's face with hatred. Alfie smiled and shrugged one shoulder. "He won't do anything to me."

"I wouldn't worry about what he _would_ do to you," said Alfie, "rather, I'd worry about what he _wouldn't_ _do_ to a witch who proves she is no better than a Mudblood thief. I doubt he'd want to make you his right hand if you're plainly not even capable of controlling your raiding companions..."

This made Bellatrix freeze. Furiously, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the house. Sirius almost smiled a doggy smile; Alfie was alright; but he too, was a Slytherin, it was plain as day.

He was about to leave his hiding place, to talk to Alfie, when someone grabbed him from behind.

"Let's go," said a voice, and without a warning, Sirius felt pulled backwards and like he was being sucked through a very thin tube — He couldn't even yelp out.

.

* * *

.

"The wards are all set," Coop slumped down on a squashy settee by the fireplace. Night had fallen, and though the sounds of celebration were trailing all the way to Godric's Hall from the nearby village, none of the Christmas cheer was present in the house.

A first, in several generations of Potters, as some of the older portraits pointed out. But nobody listened to them.

All afternoon, the Potters had been working feverishly on anything and everything they could think of, from re-casting the protective wards in and around the house, to teaching the doors to tell a fake Sirius from the real thing, to, and this was what James had been doing for the past hour, trying to figure out how to find his best mate.

Betty had gone to the village earlier, to try and get in touch with Bathilda Bagshot, who had a fantastic collection of magical maps. The old magical historian had told her that she'd noticed some suspicious types sneaking around the village's cobbled streets earlier in the day, and, after hearing Betty's account, had promised she would try and get in touch with Albus Dumbledore, should Sirius be headed towards Hogwarts; this would not happen overnight, however.

Coop had responded to the news by placing an extra set of alarms all around the grounds of the house.

"Good, I suppose," James mumbled, without looking up from the maps, his brow furrowed in concentration. While his dad had been busy re-warding the place, James had pored over the maps Bathilda had let them borrow and tried fruitlessly to get into Sirius' head, if only for a moment. He had not had a hint of a reading of him all afternoon, but something told James that Sirius wasn't dead yet. Maybe he was asleep, or – and this made his gut twist with worry – too badly hurt to move.

"Have you made any progress, son?" asked Coop, raising his head to look at his boy. James shook his own, trying, yet again, to fight down the sense of failure and frustration that welled up every so often.

Suddenly James stiffened. His eyes slid out of focus for a moment, and he swayed on his chair.

"Is everything alright?" Coop asked, steadying James, who shook his head.

"He's... someplace dark," James stammered. He had gone white as a sheet. "He's frightened, and... A tunnel, and it's..." Just what it was, Coop never found out. James trailed off, clearly trying to grasp onto whatever sort of link he and Sirius shared. But the silence stretched on, and James' expression shifted to one of defeated worry.

"I lost him," he mumbled tonelessly. "I lost him again."

"But he's...?"

"Alive? Not for long, if this carries on." James looked pleadingly at his father, who could only wrap his arms around him. The sobs that shook James seconds later told Coop volumes, and certainly more than James would ever want to acknowledge he was feeling; hope was leaving him, and the sheer impotence he had been feeling had been mounting steadily. Coop wished, not for the first time, that it would not hurt James so much.

"I don't even know where he is, Dad," he sobbed into Coop's shoulder. "He's dying, and I don't even know where he is."

"He's not going to die," Coop said gently, but not less firmly. "Not yet, you said it yourself. It's _Sirius_ , he can't die like that. Not like that."

"Not like that," James echoed, nodding into Coop's shoulder.

"We have a lot to do, son," said Coop after a moment or two, when James did not seem to improve or indeed capable of rational thought. "The Death Eaters are watching us; there must be something we can do to distract them from Sirius, at the very least. Give him enough time to get someplace safe."

Commonly it is in a parent's nature to protect their child from any sort of distress. In this case, though, Coop knew that the only way James would not be distressed was if he was doing _something_ to help Sirius, however small. So he did the only thing he could to keep his son from losing it: he would let James decide what they would do next.

"Watching us?" It was as if James' floodgates had slid closed. He peered at his father, despair fading as he became increasingly attentive; already he was tensing for action. Coop nodded.

"Your mother noticed it earlier; they're trying to intercept every owl coming here or sent out from here... I'm sure they haven't found Sirius yet, and they're thinking maybe we are in touch with him."

"Intercepting owls, are they?" James' tone wasn't trembling anymore. He wiped at his face, sat up straight. "Let's give them something to entertain themselves with, then."

And James' solution to the problem, as Coop found out moments later, was highly creative.

.

* * *

.

All around, it was very dark.

Sirius turned his head to one side, meeting with something soft. He tried to raise a leaden hand to his face, met with something warm, soft...

A blanket.

Belatedly realising he was in his human form, he tried to transform back out of instinct, but a small hand kept him from doing so, pushing him back against his pillows. Firmly. It _hurt_.

"No, no. That's not good for young Master," chided a voice, and it was a familiar one.

"...Ellie?" Sirius croaked out. Ellie was Alfie's old elf, whom a two-year-old Sirius had named after his great-aunt Elladora. The name had stuck, and though Auntie Elladora had not been too fond of it, the elf had loved it. She'd looked after Sirius countless times— even going as far as sneaking into his mother's house to do so, when he was particularly bad off during the Summers.

"Yes, now young Master Sirius must rest," said Ellie.

"It's dark here..."

"Young Master, we is under the ground," was the explanation. "We is not found here by the Bad Mistress. My Master said Master Sirius has to drink this. Ellie will look after Master Sirius, now."

 _Relief_ , blessed relief, washed over Sirius. He still had not a clue where he was, unless he counted the fact that he was underground; but he was on a dry, warm bed, and Ellie was here. Alfie _had_ helped him, after all.

"Master Sirius must drink," the elf reminded him, and he felt something cold and hard press against his lips. He opened his mouth without protest, let the bitter liquid trickle down his throat. "Master Sirius must sleep now. Ellie will look after Master Sirius..."

Sirius had no choice but to listen to Ellie. He closed his eyes. Her voice, squeaky and shrill as all female elves', started fading out, as if she were speaking from miles away.

.

* * *

.

"Is this some kind of _joke_?"

Bellatrix was glaring furiously down the sewage shaft they had been led to. Next to her, Rodolphus shrugged his shoulders.

"That's where this owl was going," he told her, showing her the piece of parchment they had intercepted from the Potters' house.

"If he's down there," Bellatrix muttered dangerously, "I'll kill him. How dare he steep so low as to hide amidst Muggle waste? I never thought him capable of that. That's just disgusting... it's just _sick_."

"The letter is addressed to him, though," Rodolphus maintained, in the same tone. "S. Black, Whitechapel Sewers, London."

"Fine," huffed Bellatrix, casting a bubble-head charm on herself and starting her descent into London's raw sewage. "He's _so dead_."

Miles away, other Death Eaters were having similar problems. They were presently standing in front of waste dumps, muggle prisons, a lingerie shop, three Muggle theatres, a medical school, a shopping centre... Countless letters had left Godric's Hall, and more continued to do so. As the Dark Lord put it, not knowing which of these many scrolls was actually addressed to Sirius Black's real location, they had to intercept and follow them all.

So there they were, freezing to the bone and holding birds and scrolls in their hands, staring at every manner of unlikely locations, completely baffled. None took any note of the birds, which seemed to decide to stay with them after they'd been captured.

Not until the owls started blowing up in their faces.

.

* * *

.

Christmas afternoon found James sitting in the front room, all but dismantling the Christmas tree amidst a veritable sea of scrolls, upon which specially-charmed quills were scribbling furiously away. Baubles – and there were many of these in the Potter household – had turned into a ready source of material for his exploits.

If the Death Eaters wanted to follow his owls, then he'd give them owls. Aplenty.

He had sent out his explosive owls to every random place he could think of, all addressed to S. Bleak, Serious Black, Sirius O. Black, Sirius Blake, Serious Blackpool, addressing them to restaurants, abandoned houses, the sewers of all major cities in Britain. To dumps, harbours, even ships on the high seas.

It was their fault that he hadn't been able to go out and look for Sirius himself; his mother had seen them before any of them had – Death Eaters, positioned all around Godric's Hall. There was little chance of leaving the house now, much less unnoticed.

"Alphard, _thank the heavens_!"

James, who had been addressing yet another letter to 'S. Black, Gringott's Vault 666, London' and was wondering what he could transfigure into an owl this time, jumped up as though he had been fitted with a spring, rushing to his dad's side by the fireplace. There wasn't much to see at first, aside from Coop's rather large backside, but he could hear everything, and that was what mattered.

"Merlin's beard! What happened to you?"

"What do you think?" he heard Alphard say. There was a muttered spell, and the scraping of furniture. "Christmas is family time apparently, and I got a little house call... Here, let me just... Oh, hello, James."

James had poked his head into the fire next to his Dad's. He gaped.

There was not a single thing standing in Alfie's front room. It looked like a raging monster had torn through it.

James held his breath.

"My God, Alphard... Are you alright?" his Dad asked. Alfie didn't quite look the part, although he looked unhurt. Mostly.

"For the most part," was the answer. "They came looking for Sirius."

"Have you seen him?"

"No, I have not _seen_ him," Alphard replied to James' hurried question, but his expression told him something else. "But I know he's still alive, and on the run. Maybe he'll go... oh, I don't know, someplace else."

"We're hoping he'd come here, but he..."

"He knows what would happen if he did."

There was a silence following Alphard's flat statement, during which James had the urge to knock himself out against the fireplace.

"I heard that he was seen around here," Alphard added. "Everyone and their mum's looking for him, apparently he made a few very _influential_ members of society rather cross." He chuckled good-naturedly, and James couldn't but feel hurt and confused. Sirius was in terrible danger, and Alfie, who'd always been a ready source of help or advice, was acting plain _strange_ , and without a shred of the worry reflected in the Potters' faces before him.

Had he lost it for good?

"That's what I heard too," Coop said, as estranged by Alphard's reaction as his son was. "I'm worried, we haven't heard of him for days."

"Me either. You know, there's a spell they used in the old days," said Alphard, summoning himself a chair and flopping down on it, and why did he sound so casual? It didn't add up to James at all. "They modelled the Trace on underage wizards after this one... They used to use it for Azkaban prisoners, back in the day, before they put Dementors in the prison. They called it the Tristram Trace."

James could only stare. Uncle Alfie was usually as, if not more, clever and alert than his own parents. And yet there he was, arranging furniture and chatting as if he didn't have a care in the world. After a Death Eater attack, to boot. There was something else going on here, but _what_?

"What of that spell?" James' Dad asked, frowning deeply.

"Oh, it's just... Some of the old families used it too, in case they had unruly children, or were paranoid something would happen to them should they... stray. They created locator clocks after it. I'd prefer that, myself. Imagine if the spell were still in place, you'd never get any manner of privacy, would you? People would know where you were, no matter how sneaky you were."

"I can imagine," said Coop heavily. "Listen Alfie, about Sirius..."

"He's very resourceful," said Alphard abruptly, and he sounded much more like his usual self now. There was a certainty in his tone James couldn't miss. "I'm sure that wherever he is, he's keeping a... low profile."

"Hasn't he contacted you in any way?"

"Me? _No_. And that's a good thing too, isn't it?"

James sighed. _Was_ it a good thing, though?

"... The Death Eaters would have done much worse than tear my house apart otherwise. Of course, there was no _trace_ of him, so _if_ he got close, he must have scented them out and left, they were just too busy breaking my every last piece of furniture to notice."

James' eyes widened, and Alfie gave him the tiniest of nods before carrying on.

"Do you think he's alright?" he asked the old wizard, whose eyes told what his words did not quite convey.

"Depends what you mean by that," he answered, eyes locked with James'. He shook his head a little and scratched his chin. The answer was plain to James, whose stomach plummeted.

_Bugger._

"He's not been caught, but if and when they do catch him, he won't be alright by far. I heard there have been some close calls too, but to the South of here. I've been on the lookout; all I've seen though, aside from my dear niece and her friends, was a mangy stray."

_Stray?_

In James' head, an image popped up, clear as day, while Alphard spoke. Past Bellatrix and her wand, he could see a huge black dog with silvery eyes crouching in the snow by a bush. James froze. It was like seeing the same thing Sirius had before he stopped getting any reading from him, but from a different point of view. Uncle Alfie's.

The image shifted, and he could suddenly see Ellie the elf popping up beside the dog, and grabbing him. That must have been what gave Sirius a fright. The next instant, both elf and dog were gone, and the image vanished.

"I'd have welcomed the company, but it disappeared around the time I had my visits." He sighed heavily. "And my elf is gone as well... Poor Ellie, old as the hills, that one. I'm sure she went to look after the dog though; she was always trying to get me to take one in, for company. I'm just happy she died doing what she liked most..."

While to Coop that made little to no sense, James had a better understanding of what he meant; Ellie was old yes, but the only dog she had ever liked had been Sirius. Moreover, she was always trying to get Alfie to take Sirius in over the holidays, which he did whenever possible. Which in turn meant... Sirius _had_ been at Alphard's but was now under Ellie's care, and Alphard didn't know – or didn't want to tell – where he was.

It was saddening to hear that Ellie was dead, or rather, that she would die soon. She'd indeed been very old, and the only good thing was that she hadn't been beheaded like the others.

"I'm sorry," mumbled James. He'd quite liked the old elf. An excellent cook, and baker. And she'd always been kind to Sirius and to him...

"She wanted to go like that," said Alfie, smiling sadly. "For a good cause, you know. And I'm sure Elladora will bring me a replacement soon." Which translated into, Alfie would be watched very closely – he already was, and James realised how much the old wizard was risking, just by talking to them.

"Where do you think Sirius could be?"

"Ah, who knows. Everyone seems to ask me that question."

 _Not far from you_. Then, a familiar sight appeared before James' mind's eye. _He'll try to go to Hogwarts_.

"If he's smart, he'll try to go somewhere safe. Then again, I'm not sure how he could manage. It's freezing out there, and I don't think he packed for a trip like that." Alphard's mouth kept moving, talking about random things, like the weather and the cold spells due to come their way, snow storms and whatnot. Mentally, however, the old wizard was telling James something quite different.

Legilimency wasn't that bad a thing to know.

By the end of the conversation, he had a fair idea of what had happened, of what was happening now... and, by means of the disconnected imagery Alphard was sending to his mind, he had a good idea of what route Sirius would strike up soon.

.

* * *

.

When Sirius woke up again, things had changed dramatically: he was lying face-down, for one, and there was a small blaze burning somewhere to his left, casting a warm, glowing light that danced off roughly-hewn stone walls. Through the flickering, he could make out a small table, and basins full of steaming somethings that filled the chamber he was in with a warm, fragrant air.

Squinting at the flickering light and raising his head a fraction, he could barely make out Ellie's diminutive form, busy somewhere around his feet. It was her who had woken him, as she moved him this way and that, humming some long-forgotten tune that reminded him of other times, when he was a child and she had been still allowed to look after him whenever she pleased. Back then, his parents had still given a jot about him; but that was long before Hogwarts, long before he went and became a Gryffindor and refused to go Dark. Long before he disgraced them all.

"Ungh," he croaked out, in what was meant to come out as a hello. Ellie did get the point, however.

"Master Sirius, you is awake!" she exclaimed, sounding very happy all of a sudden. Sirius muttered something that sounded more like "Meen _gah_ ," and nothing like what he wanted to say.

"Master Sirius will be alright," Ellie assured him, finishing bandaging his foot and suddenly standing in his field of vision. She clapped her hands, and Sirius found himself being rolled over on his back and propped up against a handful of pillows. "Is you comfortable?"

"Mugh," Sirius replied. Ellie gave him an elvish smile. She took a nearby goblet and measured out some poisonous blue liquid into it, which frothed and bubbled in the firelight.

"Master must drink," she told him, holding it to his lips. It tasted terribly bitter, but parched as Sirius was, he all but downed it in a few greedy gulps. Instantly, he felt better. More awake, and hungry.

"Where's Alfie?" he asked after a while, which he'd spent watching the old elf busying herself with whatever was on the table.

"Master is at home. Master cannot come to see Master Sirius," Ellie said mournfully. "Master cannot come to see Ellie, either... Never again." She wiped at her eyes, but when she turned to look at Sirius again, she was smiling a little. "Master Sirius has to get better now," she told him. "Get better and run far, far away."

"There's nowhere left to run, Ellie," Sirius mumbled. "They follow everywhere."

"Not here, Master Sirius," Ellie said confidently. "Here you is safe... For a little while, so you is better."

"Where's here, Ellie?"

"Deep down," she told him. "We is very deep down, where the Mistress cannot find the young Master. Where her magic cannot reach."

"What magic?"

"Dark, dark magic it is," said Ellie, waggling her long ears, eyes so wide Sirius fleetingly thought they might pop out of their sockets. "Outlawed magic; only the Ancient Magic is stronger. You is in danger, Master Sirius. You has to run far away, never let the Mistress find you again."

"Tell me something I don't know, Ellie..." Sirius sighed. Just thinking of his situation was draining. All he wanted was to pass out again, and maybe he'd wake up to something less bleak... Or not at all, defeatist as it sounded. "What day is it?"

"Christmas day, Master Sirius." Ellie dabbed at his face with a warm, wet cloth. "Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, Ellie."

.

* * *

 _My boy, I am sorry but I cannot help you. Your cousins have been watching, and even if you are in the escape tunnel, I am afraid I cannot let you stay_ _for long. You wouldn't be safe, as I am not in a position to help you at the moment, and it's just a matter of time before my niece remembers it exists and goes looking for you there. The Dark Side is watching me too closely, and you cannot linger._

Thus was the opening of the letter Alfie had left for him.

It was shortly before dawn on Boxing Day, and Sirius was sitting up in bed. He felt much better now, even though he was impersonating King Tut's mum – after the venerable old woman died. Ellie had wrapped him up in bandages, stuffed him full of potions, fed and washed him and forced him to rest, even if he was still jumpy as anything and any little noise was bound to make him wake up with a start.

She was packing up a bag for him now, charming it with her elven magic to be bigger on the inside and lightweight, as well as unbreakable. Sirius watched her with mixed feelings. He had known he wouldn't be able to stay for long, but...

A part of him had hoped for safety. For a longer breather, at any rate.

 _What little I can provide is in_ _Ellie's custody, but she cannot go with you either. She will take you as far as you wish to go, once you are well enough to travel, but she will have to return to me afterwards; they will track her down too, and you know she cannot lie to them – she serves the Family Black, and sadly, you and I are not the only members._

_My advice is, go to Scotland. Go to Hogwarts. You will find help there, Dumbledore will take you in, and there is no-one else who could help you now, aside from the Potters. Coop can help you, but I know you wouldn't listen or want to endanger James and his family further, so I'll leave that choice to you._

Sirius sighed. He had nearly died just getting to the South-West. Going to Hogwarts seemed impossible from where he was sitting. Going to Wales and the Potters seemed doable, seeing as he could maybe arrive before New Year's, particularly now his strength was slowly returning, and he had found he could move again, thanks to Alfie's potions and Ellie's excellent care... But wouldn't he be playing straight into Voldemort's hands if he did that?

He watched Ellie some more, a lump forming in his throat, making it difficult to breathe. She would die soon; having chosen to help him, she had chosen her own death. Sirius wondered if it was worth it, but it was too late to change that now. What done was done, and she had said she was happy to go like that. Alfie had given her a measure of poison, which she would take after obliterating any trace of Sirius' stay in the escape tunnel. Alfie would bury her, she said, head and all. After all those years of service and hard work, that was all she wanted; to keep her head.

His eyes fell on the second part of the letter, skipping over a bit that was full of advice on how to fool the Munchers, and his heart plummeted further.

 _There is a second Trace on you, which enables the Death Eaters to fi_ _nd you whenever you are resting or in your human form. It is called the Tristram Trace, and even if I know how to undo that particular weave of spells, being a Black, I cannot do it without harming you more. The only people I know have enough wisdom and power to do it without killing you are Coop Potter, Angus McAlpin, and Albus Dumbledore. If you truly want to give your dear old mother the slip, then go to either of them, and do it soon._

 _Take care,_ _my boy, and godspeed._

Godspeed. Sirius snorted without humour. Godspeed to _where_? He rolled the black wand that had come with the letter back and forth in his bandaged hand, mulling things over as he read the note still attached to it.

 _This wand belonged to the first Sirius Black, I think it's only fitting you should have it_ _– and nobody will miss it from my collection anyway. May it be of a greater service to you than it was to the original owner. Keep yourself safe, I wish I could do more._

"Is Master Sirius ready?"

_No, Master Sirius very well isn't._

"Yes, Ellie." Sirius tore the note from the wand, making it burst into flame, and got to his feet.

Ellie gave him his pack, adjusting his jumper and scarf for the last time before she reminded him to transform. Heavy-hearted, but knowing there was no other way, Sirius did so, following her doggedly out of a tunnel, which was, surprisingly, right outside Alfie's back garden.

Without a word, the elf placed a small hand in Sirius' fur, leading him towards a narrow, snowed-in path, which would take them to a spot devoid of Death Eaters, from which she could apparate them both away.

Regretting every step that distanced him from his uncle's house, Sirius followed her lead and started running.

* * *

TBC. R&R.

Updated February 2017

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up - Part Four: Wherein James punches a Muncher, Sirius punches a Muncher, Voldemort punches a Muncher, and everyone is generally violent and aggressive.


	4. Boxing Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Sirius punches a Muncher, the Head Muncher punches a Muncher, James punches a Muncher, and everybody is generally aggressive. Even James' Mum.   
> Warning – Character Death, sort of. And gore. Lots of that last. Sort of. I know you all love it. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Refer to Ch. 1. HP is not mine, et cetera.

* * *

 

**Part Four: Boxing Day**

* * *

"James!"

The cry rang across the otherwise silent house on top of Godric's Hill, echoing along the halls and rooms. It soon was repeated by a many-voiced chorus as the portraits all over the old Potter household joined in.

" _James_!"

James nearly fell off the bed at the clamour; his first thought, as he grabbed blindly for his wand and his glasses, was that he had no idea when he'd ended up here; he hadn't gone to bed at all that he could remember, yet here he was, all tucked in and in his pyjamas…

His second thought was that they were under attack. The result: James was impossibly tangled in his blankets the next moment, having tried to jump out of the bed and throw his covers aside at the same time.

"James! He's here!"

Now _that_ woke him up.

James was already on the way to his window overlooking the front of the old manor, glasses askew and stumbling over his feet and displaying none of his famed quick reflexes.

There on the front drive, he met with a long longed-for, yet sorry sight: Sirius was standing in the snow, wearing torn-up pyjamas and looking worse than James had ever seen him. He was bloodied and bruised, holding his midriff and looking half-frozen and _this_ close to collapsing where he stood. His hair was longer than James remembered, and he was very pale, with rings under his eyes. In short, he looked like crap. And yet - James had never been so glad to see his best friend. After so long without news, it had been hard to keep hope alive, even for him.

" _Sirius_!" James shouted, overjoyed, but the happy note in his voice turned into one of alarm when it appeared that Sirius didn't want to come closer to the house. In fact, James noted in dismay, Sirius seemed to be debating whether to leave or not; he kept glancing over his shoulder, but following his gaze all James could see were Sirius' footprints in the snow, all the way to the nearby forest. James cursed under his breath. Sirius was so clever, but he could be immensely stupid sometimes. Like when it came to asking for help. "Sirius, _wait_! I'm coming down!"

Sirius looked up; his right eye was bloodshot, and he seemed to have trouble focusing, but James could see something akin to relief crossing his features.

He raced out his room and down the stairs, nearly bowling his Mum over by the door.

"I'll handle it," he yelled, grabbing his coat and a spare one for Sirius, putting his on hurriedly. He stopped and flashed his mother a quick grin. "Told you he wasn't dead."

"Bless you, James," said Betty, her hands clamped over her mouth. "It really is him! But why won't he come in?"

"Because he's an _idiot_ \- he probably thinks it's a bother or something," James replied, yanking the door open. "I'll convince him to stay, wait here."

.

* * *

_Go to Hogwarts, it's your best bet if you want to avoid Godric's Hollow. Nobody else can or will help you, except for the Potters and Dumbledore_.

The words of Alfie's letter, depressing as they were, were branded into his skull. Sirius found that photographic memory was a handy trait to have right now; he'd had to destroy his uncle's letter, and it had been harder than he'd thought possible. As it were, it had been the only connection to his uncle he had, the only connection to someone who cared about him beyond turning him into some sort of mindless, cruel puppet for Voldemort.

It was also the closest thing to communication with another living being he'd had in nearly a week; James' message didn't count. Sirius had pushed him away, it was simply too dangerous for him. He'd hoped for some help from Alfie, which made this letter hugely important for Sirius. And...

It was also doubtless proof that Alfie _had_ helped him; if the Death Eaters got a hold of it, they'd kill Alfie on the spot.

Now he was faced with a bunch of choices, each as weighty as the next.

_Don't take the Knight Bus. There are more of them around than you would believe. I'm sorry my boy, but you're on your own. Try Muggle transport, maybe it will be easier for you, but they are patrolling every train station; I'm certain you are resourceful enough to give them the slip._

Alfie's letter didn't get easier to digest, even if it _was_ helpful. Knowing what he was up against did help, after all.

A little.

Sirius adjusted the knapsack Alfie had sent on his shoulder. It was small, containing only a little food and three potions – an alertness one, to help him keep his wits about him, a general restorative, and one he hated with a passion, which would however, help him heal from dark curses. Or something.

Sirius had never been great shakes at Healing; what else was the school nurse for, anyhow? But, he vowed, if he made it out of this one alive, he'd look into it at least. Right now, though... He was busy resisting temptation.

"Ach, Ellie..." He sighed heavily. He was standing at the corner of a train station, and it was so _not_ what he'd expected.

" _Penarth_?" Sirius asked at midvoice, staring at the brightly-lit railway station, which stood deserted and glowing in the darkness like a beacon. "What happened to Sheffield? Newcastle? Even Blackpool would've been better. But _Penarth_? Come _on_."

There was no answer, save for the soft sound of snow that had started falling and was swirling in wisps across the street. He was completely alone, in the middle of a deserted street.

In _Wales_.

Penarth, to be exact. Tiny seaside town close to Cardiff, where you could get really good fish and chips, population eight thousand… oh, who _cared_.

Ellie had apparated him in the opposite direction he'd wanted to take, pretty much.

Wales, in any shape or form, wasn't really where Sirius wanted to go, but a. Ellie was as stubborn as he was, which didn't make for a good prospect but for lots of arguing they didn't have time for; b. Sirius was still hurt and so worn out he couldn't argue his point to the extent he wanted - apparently his reasons for not wanting to go to the Potters weren't good enough for Ellie at all, and he'd even _told_ her what Voldemort wanted James for. How dangerous it was to get closer to the Potters. Ellie wasn't fazed. She only responded that, "The Potters are good people. They're Master's friends, and they're powerful. Master will be cared for there. Master _must_ go to his friend James."

"I'd love to Ellie, _believe_ me - but if I go there, I'll only put them in more danger. The Bastard wants to use me to get James, he'll worse than kill him, and I'm _not_ letting that happen," Sirius had argued. But since he had been half slurring at her, and most importantly, c. Ellie was the one doing the apparating, she had gone and dropped him off in Wales _anyway_. Right in front of the one station that could take him straight to James.

Sirius heaved a sigh; it _was_ tempting, to go to Godric's Hollow rather than risk his life any more trying to get to Hogwarts on foot. This was why Ellie had brought him here; there was a magical railway that went through this station, the Royal Hollow Rail. But he _couldn't_. Or rather, he _wouldn't_ take it, even if he knew, deep down, that Ellie was right: He couldn't expect any help from _anyone_ except for James' family. He even had his doubts about Dumbledore; his relationship with the Headmaster limited itself to expulsion threats or special services to the school awards. The only people he trusted blindly, were the Potters…

But.

Could he _risk_ it? Could he make it to _Hogwarts?_   Could he even make it to James' alive, at that?

_Gah._

There was no time to carry on debating. Sirius' sharp ears picked up a faint popping noise that told him someone had just apparated around the corner. He checked his watch, then went dog.

Three minutes.

_Three minutes_ , and they'd tracked him down. Sirius let out a doggy oath under his breath, slinking into she shadows and erasing his foot- and pawprints with his tail. Alfie was right; they _did_ have a failsafe method to find him, no matter where he went. The Tristram Trace, Alfie had called it. One only Dumbledore or James' dad had the power to counter. Or old McAlpin, but come _on_. The dude lived _way_ up North. And that was probably only because they were the only people old enough to remember it at all...

"I _swear_ it was pointing to here!" Bellatrix was frustrated, kicking at the snow and obliterating Sirius' badly-concealed tracks as she did so.

Well then. He might not even have bothered. Rodolphus was standing next to her, holding a glowing map of the United Kingdom with a confused expression that made him look even dimmer than Sirius would have given him credit for.

"It's like he… like he just _vanished_ -"

Sirius slunk back into the shadows, striking up a path that would hopefully take him towards Cardiff. Maybe with luck, he could get on a train to Scotland—

He didn't get far.

_Sirius!_

A feeling of hope washed over him, sudden surprise and exhilaration that were most certainly _not_ his own; he had no reason to feel either. Sirius froze in his tracks, an image flashing before his eyes. _James, racing down the stairs of his house, feeling alarmed and ecstatic at the same time._

_What the hell—_

Sirius had been blocking James out for the longest time now; it had been so long that it came naturally to him, even if he was certain that James hated the arrangement. It was for his own safety, after all… But this, _this_ was highly irregular. Sirius curled up in an alleyway, Death Eaters forgotten, focusing his mind on his best friend.

He was all but leaping down the stairs, to the entrance parlour. Sirius caught a flash of Mrs. P.

_"I'll handle it,"_ and there it was once more: hope, soaring. _"Told you he wasn't dead."_

_"Bless you, James. It really is him! But why won't he come in?"_

_"Because he's an idiot –"_

_Huh?  
_

"… _he probably thinks it's a bother or something. I'll convince him to stay, wait here."_

Sirius caught a glimpse of the door opening, saw fresh, swirling snow…

And then he saw...

Himself.

Sirius' blood froze.

There, standing all ragged-like in the Potters' front drive, was… Sirius himself. He was beaten up and bloodied, much like he'd been that night, before he jumped out his bedroom window. But it _wasn't him_. Couldn't James see that that Sirius hadn't even crossed the wards? Couldn't he see that it _wasn't him_?

_IT'S—NOT—ME!_ Sirius shouted in his mind. He was up on all fours now, frantic yelps leaving his throat without him realising it. _JAMES, IT'S NOT ME! IT'S A TRAP! DON'T LEAVE THE WARDS!_

Sirius went unheard; James was too excited, too confident that he'd recognised his best friend. Sirius did the only thing he could.

James was plowing ahead, ignoring his frantic mental pleas completely; the only thing to catch his attention would be if their mindlink sent him an alert. And the only way that would happen, was if Sirius was in mortal danger.

_Well_.

At least there wasn't a shortage of _that_.

So he did the natural thing: he went human again, raced for the spot where Bellatrix and Rodolphus had been not a minute ago. He never thought he'd be actually _glad_ to see either of them ever again.

Stranger things had happened.

"Oi! _POOPATRIX_! OVER HERE!"

The curses didn't take long to whizz every which way. Sirius turned tail and ran, sprinting down the alley he'd been taking shelter in and down yet another street, the Death Eaters in tow. Already more were apparating, hastily summoned to help Bella and directed towards him with her shrill shrieks.

_SEE?_ _ **THIS**_ _IS ME!_ Sirius sent at James, more worried about preventing him to get caught than for his own safety. A Slashing Curse hit him in the side and he cried out, landing sprawled on the ice.

"Bloody hell," he gritted out, but it wasn't because of the blood gushing out from his side. He'd lost his connection with James. And he couldn't focus on the link. Rodolphus was towering over him, his wand raised in triumph.

"I got him!" he yelled. Sirius backtracked, teeth gritted and heart racing. He had a wand, his ancestor's wand – but could he _use_ it? The Ministry would surely send him to Azkaban for one too many counts of underage magic, and the Ministry was, as far as he knew, Voldemort's puppet stage anyhow. He couldn't hope for help from that end, and—

He rolled out of the way of a curse, straight into an Imperius.

The familiar, warm feeling didn't even take hold this time; he shook it off without a second thought, trying to find a way out of this fix, trying to connect to James again. Sirius skidded around a corner, confused yelling and beams of spells impacting the corner of the shops he'd passed, and he raced down a street so clean you'd have thought it was brand new. There was nowhere to hide, just a row of identical town houses with identically tall stone walls. He sprinted past them, barely-healed bones protesting his every movement, hoping for an empty alleyway or something, _anything_ to help him out here—

He saw a car, half-covered in snow. He headed for it, it could maybe provide some temporary—

_BOOM_.

_No, never mind._

The car exploded into a thousand bits. Sirius went flying to the side, completely winded by the sudden blast. His ears were ringing; he couldn't hear, couldn't get up—

.

* * *

.

"Sirius you big oaf, get over here!" James called at his friend, who was even now turning around to leave. In his mind, James got a sense of urgency from Sirius, which he interpreted as him not wanting to spend much time out in the open… He tried to go faster, sinking knee-deep in the snow. "Wait up! You can stay here— Mum and Dad are okay with it, you can—"

" _Oi! POOPATRIX! OVER HERE!"_

James stopped in his tracks, eyes widening in confusion. Flashes of a battle were blending in with the pristine, snow-covered landscape of Godric's Hall. _Sirius wasn't here_. He was sending a warning –

_SEE?_ _**THIS** _ _IS ME!_

Sirius wasn't here. He _wasn't here_ , and he was in danger, just because James had foolishly fallen into what was pretty obviously a trap.

Rage gripped him, sudden and burning.

The fake Sirius was standing there, as though he were waiting for him. Right outside the new wards his Dad had set a couple of days ago.

"Get over here," he gritted out, stomping to the fake Sirius.

"J-James, I need your help," Sirius said plaintively. "I had to run. I had to. There isn't any time..."

For an answer, James landed his fist smack in the centre of his face.

"How _dare_ you?" James asked, even as the fake Sirius staggered back a few steps. "Don't you dare show your face here again!" He heard his Mum shriek out in alarm, even as James' Dad left the house, wand raised.

"Son, what's going on?"

"What are you _doing_?"

" _THIS ISN'T SIRIUS_!" James roared, pummelling the Death Eater for all he was worth. "IT'S NOT HIM! THEY'RE USING POLYJUICE POTION!" With every word, he landed another blow at the Death Eater who was pretending to be his friend, his brother. But the real Sirius, he could still sense, was in deathly peril now, all because _he'd fallen for it_. He punched every inch he could reach, couldn't stop; not until a spell grazed his ear.

"JAMES – GET IN THE HOUSE!"

One thing might be said for James' Dad. He had quite the lungpower when he wanted to. James stopped short, his wand flying into his hand in an automatic motion. Death Eaters in silvery skull-shaped masks were rounding in on him, and he was outside the wards.

" _NOW_!" Coop shouted imperiously, hurrying forward even as James scooted back, trying to regain his footing.

"Come now, Potter," one of the Death Eaters sneered, "You want to see your little friend again? We've got Black… You can have him back if you come with us."

"Yeah," said another, vaguely familiar voice. "He misses you. He gets lonely in our Master's dungeons, you see." Harsh laughter erupted from the group of black-robed wizards and witches. Some were making kissy noises.

"Is he your _girlfriend_ , Potter?"

"Do you miss him?"

"Oh, _come on_ , didn't you see how he was running to him? _Sirius_! _Sirius_ my love!" another cried out in a shrill falsetto.

"Piss off," James spat out, getting to his feet. A shield left his wand a split second before a Hurling Hex hit him in the face.

He retaliated with a blasting curse.

.

* * *

.

" _Where_ , did you say?" Voldemort did a double take.

"In Penarth, My Lord. It's a seaside town near Cardiff," said Lestrange. "We still don't know how he got there, but there's a train station—"

"Spare me the geography lesson. Send _everybody_ there," Voldemort interrupted. His red eyes were shining like coals in the half-light of his dungeon chamber. "Nobody defies me like that and lives, and I'll teach _this one_ a lesson before he dies."

"Yes, My Lord."

"Send them in now. I want that boy _CAUGHT TODAY_! And mark my words," the Dark Lord added, "I want him alive. He's _not to be killed_. I want him to see that nobody defies me and succeeds. He shall be made an example of!"

"Yes, My Lord." Rabastan was grinning at the floor. "Right away, My Lord."

"What news of the Potter boy?" was the next question. Rabastan's grin faltered. "My Lord… The Potter boy… He saw right through our trap. He attacked Snape without a reason, I had to return because of Bella's summons, I—"

"What?" Rabastan cringed, but forced himself to look up. Voldemort hated cowards, which was a bit ironic, seeing as he was surrounded by them. The Dark Lord grabbed him by the collar of his robes, eyes flashing dangerously.

"He… He saw right through it. We thought it was a cert, but…" Rabastan didn't get any further. He was suddenly seeing stars, sitting on the stone floor of his Master's chambers, blood flowing from his nose.

Voldemort rubbed his knuckles.

"Either you're more useless than I thought or Potter's smarter than I thought. Very well, retreat. Send _everyone_ after Black. Potter won't doubt the real thing once he sees it."

Voldemort didn't sound disappointed, which perhaps saved Rabastan Lestrange's hide from more than a punch in the nose. If anything, he was impressed. Annoyed, but impressed all the same. Clearly, he still held hope of adding James to his collection of followers. And quite possibly, Black too; there had been rumours amongst the higher-ranked Death Eaters, that Voldemort was trying to find out just how far Sirius could go, hunted as he was.

Every setback, every time he vanished right under their noses, seemed to spur the Dark Lord on to greater heights, and he was _excited_ with the hunt. It was as though he was proud of that supremely annoying kid, and it was rumoured that it was because he had aims of making Potter and Black his right-hand men. He wanted to shape them young, and even Bella had to – grudgingly – admit that they would make excellent commanders. After her, of course. But Rabastan was beginning to fear that they would be de-bunked when Potter and Black came along. Because they would; _everyone_ broke in the end, bowed to their Master's will.

He _always_ got his way.

Still, Rabastan bowed himself out of the chamber, hurried to the Apparition Point of Voldemort's dingy little south-London flat – which everyone had questioned but couldn't but see the strategic brilliance behind, as he was right across the street from the Ministry, hiding in plain sight – straightened up his nose and robes, and summoned every Death Eater he could to help. The sooner this was over with, the better.

.

* * *

.

" _Extundo_!" reached his ears a split second before the curse hit. Sirius sailed through the air and landed in a heap some six feet ahead, ribs aching and trembling from head to toe.

"Not so _cocky_ now, are you, little cousin?"

"Shove it, Bella," Sirius wheezed. He was ever so _sick_ of this.

He was sick of running, sick of not being able to defend himself. This _was_ a life-or-death situation, and if the Ministry wanted to arrest him for doing underage magic in a Muggle setting, then the Ministry could very well go eat his lucky knickers.

Which, he mused as he struggled to get up, had lost their power a handful of days ago. He reached a trembling hand into his inner coat pocket. Fingers closed around wood, completely alien yet familiar at once. Alfie hadn't been lying; this wand _was_ a good fit.

If he cast a spell and was right about the Ministry, he'd spend the rest of his life on the run. If he was wrong, he'd spend the rest of his life on the run _anyway_. Death Eaters or Aurors, he'd be hunted until the day he died, he knew that with the same certainty he knew the Chudley Cannons wouldn't win a match in the next thirty years.

Only, he didn't care anymore. About anything. Not about running, or fighting. Or even dying, which, to be true, had been at the top of his concerns lately. Maybe it was overexposure to death threats, but somehow they had lost their power over him.

"Oh, give up, little cousin," Bella was saying, even as _pops_ and _bangs_ announced the arrival of even more Death Eaters. "The Dark Lord has… special plans for you. You should feel honoured."

" _Extundo_!" Sirius shouted for an answer. Bella was hit square in the chest, not having anticipated this turn of events at all.

Next he knew, Sirius was running, as best as he could, down a cobbled street, Death Eaters hot in pursuit. He could hear them coming closer, yelling at each other. Everywhere he turned, at least one Death Eater was approaching. His only chance out of this one was to transform, but he needed to find a hiding place first. Just for a few seconds, that would be enough to lose them—

He backtracked, casting a shield spell at Rabastan, who had apparently just arrived. His shield crumbled as a hex he couldn't place smashed into it. Not that Sirius stayed put; already he was trying to find another way to lose them. Spells smashed all around him, hitting lampposts, telephone booths, cars, houses. Cruciatus. Imperius. Slashing Curses. Bone-Breakers. He lost count.

Sirius skidded around a corner, slipping on the ice as he ducked out of the way of a purple beam that singed his coat and landing sprawled at someone's feet. He looked up, already trying to scoot out of the way—

It wasn't a Death Eater – it was a girl, maybe only a couple of years older than him, wearing a green sweater and a matching woollen cap and scarf which covered her dirty blond hair. She was carrying a grocery bag, eyes wide as she saw him. Her mouth was moving, but Sirius couldn't make out the words. She seemed to be asking if he was alright.

"No," he said urgently, but he couldn't speak either without stammering. Not unless it was a spell. "Go away. Go home." But the girl put her bag down and helped him up, pointing at a house a little ways ahead, never stopping her monologue. Sirius caught the words "let's call the police" and "My dad will help, come on." Sirius shook his head, looked around his shoulder. Bella and two more Death Eaters were approaching, and now he had to get this girl out of the way—

Spells whizzed overhead, and she gave a frightened start. Sirius cast a shield charm, which was obliterated again after deflecting a volley of curses.

"Come _on_ ," the girl urged, tugging at his arm and half-dragging him to her house.

"Go home, they'll kill you!" Sirius shouted, trying to push her away. For a split second, their eyes met. She was terrified, but still trying to help. " _Run_!" Sirius yelled at her in desperation. He gave her a push. She was looking over his shoulder though, mouth open in a silent scream.

There was a flash of silver light.

The girl's hand tensed around his shoulder, but only for a second. The next moment, she had his arm in a death grip. Blood spilled out, splattering the side of Sirius' face, the pavement, the house walls. Sirius whipped around, to see Rodolphus and Rabastan aiming again. Bella stood behind them, laughing nastily and holding her ribcage...

"Ah, missed him," Rod said, his conversational tone carrying clearly to Sirius' ears and echoing against the walls. "Let's see if he's so lucky this time – _Sectumsempra_!"

The silver beam missed Sirius yet again, even as the girl collapsed, still gripping his arm and taking him down with her. A second Slashing Curse hit him in the leg, opening a long gash in a blinking. Sirius ignored the sharp stinging, staring at the girl who was gurgling, gasping for air, bleeding to death right before his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_ ," Sirius whispered. There was nothing he could do, except try and stem the blood flow with her green scarf, which was soon soaked in red. Her eyes were wide in terror, mirroring his own. She was trying to say something.

Sirius never found out what that was; there was a flash of green light, and the hands still gripping him tensed for a split second and went slack. He stared at her in horror.

"No… _NO_!" He shook her, but it was useless.

She was gone.

The girl had died, just because she'd stopped to help him.

Sirius turned around to face the Death Eaters, who were now mocking him for being sentimental or some such grout.

"Aww, did we huwt your widdle fwiend?"

Sirius' hand went to his wand, and he cast a blasting curse at them, struggling to get to his feet. His leg felt like it was on fire, the rest of him felt like it was falling apart, heavy and leaden. But he had to _move_ , had to get out of here, had to give the Death Eaters a taster of their own medicine...

But not in that particular order.

There would be no more running, for one.

That girl hadn't even _known_ what was going on.

She'd just been passing by, and they'd murdered her, just like that!

Sirius could, perhaps, understand their animosity towards him. He could never understand or condone cruelty, much less unwarranted cruelty, towards Muggles or anyone else when they were defenceless. He'd been running for so long, that part of him had forgotten what he'd been fighting; and it was…

_T_ _his_.

It was the final straw for him. Who gave a care about the Ministry and its stupid underage wizardry trace thing? Sod them, sod the Aurors, sod his family and their stupid Tristram Trace, sod everyone else too while at it.

_This_ was the real reason he'd earned the loathing of his entire family. It wasn't Gryffindor instead of Slytherin, it wasn't that he was too soft to go Muggle baiting, it wasn't that he'd never been a pureblood maniac like the rest of them. It was this sort of thing that should never have happened what he stood against. _This_ was something Sirius needed to stop.

Nobody else was, so what the hell, right?

These mindless murderers were his _family_. He'd grown up amongst them, had been taught to fear what they could do from the moment he could walk and talk… But.

They _could_ be fought.

Or at least, he could try to. And, he decided, he _would_.

His blood was boiling; the new wand in his hand was humming with suppressed magic. Something had broken inside of him, and right now, he wasn't about to go dissecting it, but it had put everything quite clearly into perspective. Whatever happened, he vowed, he'd never let something like this happen again.

Not _ever_.

As if on cue, lightning forked overhead, sealing the deal.

"Oh, he's _angry_ ," Bella snickered her childish, would-be innocent laugh. "Was she your ghoulfriend, little Sirius? Did you _love_ her, you Muggle-loving piece of _scum_?"

"She had nothing to do with it! She was just trying to help!" Sirius spat out in outrage. "You're so proud of your heritage, Bella – Look _around_ you! All you do is destroy everything you see! Everything that's good, _you kill_!" He was surrounded now, standing in a pool of blood that was quickly freezing around his feet, growing quickly with the addition of his own.

He raised his wand; thirty-odd Death Eaters did the same, jeering and laughing. Sirius, though, was way past caring about that. He didn't care what happened to him anymore, all he knew is that he'd get them back for that girl, who had been kind to him and died for it.

There were no words to the spell he cast, but suddenly there was a whirlwind of snow rising around him, like a miniature tornado. Ice blocks flew up in the air, growing spikes as they sped around Sirius at a hundred miles per hour, so fast they were nothing but blurs.

_Well_ , Sirius thought, _if I'm going to do underage wizardry, I better do it properly._

He jabbed his wand into the whirlwind, blasting it to bits.

And then the ice blocks sped towards the Death Eaters with a rushing sound so loud it hurt. Screams rent the air, but this time they weren't Sirius'. They belonged to every single Death Eater who'd been mocking him a moment ago.

Sirius stepped towards Rod, who was, miraculously still standing, and socked him one right on the nose.

It gave way with a most satisfying _crunch_.

"GET— _HIM_!" Bella shrieked from somewhere outside his field of vision, yet too close for comfort.

Sirius whipped around, wand at the ready.

He wasn't thinking anymore. He was just reacting. For so long, he'd wanted to do this, fight back. If he'd only done it sooner, maybe the girl half-buried in the snow wouldn't have needed to die at all.

Spells lit up the darkened sky, where a blizzard was forming, but this time they weren't one-sided. Sirius gave as good as he got, firing hexes, shields, charms so fast it was a blur. Around him, the street came alive; he had always had a good grasp on wandless, wordless magic. He needed to master it to pull off his Animagus transformation, but he'd never used it outside Hogwarts or a magical household, where the Trace could be fooled; as it turned out, it was _very_ effective. Lampposts grew arms and legs, battering whichever unlucky Death Eater happened to be nearby. Cars went flying at them, growing fangs and chomping down on whoever was close; the very ground grew hands under the Death Eaters' feet, sending them crashing and not letting go.

But more were coming, and Sirius was quickly getting tired. He was nowhere near top shape, and that ice tornado thing had drained him more than he'd ever dare to admit; he was hurt, and despite Ellie's excellent care, a few hours of rest had only sufficed for a brief respite. Soon he was gasping for breath, struggling to keep up his previous fast pace.

He would have to get away after all, he realised, when he heard more Death Eaters casting barrier charms to keep Muggles away from "their" street. And there was only _one_ way out of here.

He'd seen it happen enough times, had side-along apparated with his parents countless times since he was little; even Andromeda, who passed her test a couple of years earlier, had given him pointers when he asked her how it was done.

She had also advised him not to try it, until he had his own license.

Sirius figured he'd never get one anyhow; he'd single-handedly destroyed a Muggle street, he was Azkaban material, should the Ministry get a hold of him.

Despite the urgency of the situation, which he couldn't overlook, Sirius tried to recall Andie's words to his mind, while he ducked and rolled out of the way of hex after hex, scrambling for cover wherever he could find it. Now it was a partly-destroyed stone wall, the next moment, an upturned car that was still on fire and burned a hole into his trousers.

_Picture the place you want to go to,_ Andie had said. _Picture it so hard that you can imagine yourself standing there_.

Sirius tried to picture Hogsmeade; how it would look now, all snowed in and festive… He rolled out of the way of a volley of curses, which kept coming even after he'd dodged the first handful. He ran for it, his leg and side protesting every step, teeth gritted as he cast the strongest shield he knew behind him, and leapt in midair to get behind a pile of snow.

" _Contra Contego_!" It was blasted to bits by a Cruciatus not a second later; Sirius had barely time to jump aside from a throat-cutting spell and two Killing Curses, which impacted a house a little further up the street. There were simply too many Death Eaters, and too few hiding spots. He couldn't even safely transform without being seen, so his usual last resort was shunted further down his list of possible things to do.

"I'll get you, little cousin, you might as well stop running," Bella's voice echoed down the street.

Sirius had never wished himself far, far away more than he did now. He hurled a handful of Death Eaters out of his way, but he was ultimately headed towards a dead end... Literally dead, to judge by the Killing Curses Bella was now casting at him.

An image appeared before his mind's eye; it was a village, snowed in but quite different from Hogsmeade – another curse flew past, grazing his shoulder and making him stagger back a step. He went with it – how could he _not_? – and turned on his heel. There was a sharp tug, as though he were syphoned through a very thin tube…

And he was gone, even as a Killing Curse impacted the spot he had been standing not a second before.

.

* * *

.

"Are they gone?" Betty's voice was trembling.

"Yeah." James peered past of the wall his dad had conjured, smack in the middle of the front drive. It was half destroyed, still smoking from the battle that had broken out. His parents were leaning against it, still quite shaken up from what had just happened. James respected the hell out of them right now; he'd never seen them actually _duel_ anyone, ever. And they'd proven that they were nowhere near powerless when faced with twenty-odd Death Eaters trying to get into their home. Coop's hair was even more untidy than usual, and he had a crazed look about him; Betty was already mourning the loss of her oldest cast iron pans, which they'd used to beat three of them into submission in what James would later claim was the "revenge of generations of Potter dinners". James himself was bleeding from the side of his head, his hair completely on end. "They're gone."

"That was abrupt," Coop agreed, cleaning his glasses and looking around much like James was. "It's like they just… ran for it."

"A good thing too," Betty chimed up, already summoning a handkerchief to clean out the cut on James' head. "I'd have hated to lose more of my grandmother's skillets…"

Despite themselves, all three of them laughed. It was a relief, but James for one wasn't fooled. The Death Eaters had been ready to launch a full-scale attack on their home, but now they were gone, without a clear reason as to why. It made him uneasy; they could at least have tried a bit harder, like when they destroyed other magical households. The Longbottom castle had been destroyed last Summer, and all of that family were more than capable witches and wizards. Frank's mum above all… Something wasn't right about this, even for Muncher standards.

And his probing senses got the answer almost at once; he'd forgotten all about Sirius' current predicament, in some unknown place, surrounded by Death Eaters… But now he was able to sit and think again – and cringe here and there at his Mum's wound-cleaning techniques – he had a distinct sense of danger from Sirius even now.

"Ow, Mum – _ew_ ," he muttered. "Since when is spit antiseptic?"

"It's mother's spit, dear," Betty answered calmly. "It cures anything. Now stop writhing – He can face off twenty Death Eaters all by himself," she went on, now addressing Coop. "Without batting a lid, but clean out a cut and he acts like it's on fire."

"Well it _stings_ ," James complained, but his Dad was already snickering. "I bet your spit is acid."

"I'll spit at the Death Eaters the next time, then, honey," was the answer. Then, when she noticed her son's suddenly less-than-cheery expression, "What's the matter?"

"It's Sirius," James replied. "He sensed I was falling into a trap, and… and I reckon he tried to warn me but I didn't listen. I thought it was y'know, the other Sirius' thoughts. I _really_ thought it was him… I just… wanted it to be him, I guess. He's not even coming here… And he got himself in trouble again, just to get me to listen."

There was a silence in response to his words.

"We should go inside," Coop decided after a while. "Freezing out here won't help anyone. We'll figure out what to do… I guess we have to call the Aurors first."

As he was ushered inside, all James could think of was of one person who was even now, freezing out there.

.

* * *

.

There was a swishing sound, and the Death Eaters' spells, which had been sent from opposite directions at Black collided with each other in a flurry of sparks and a blast that shattered every window within a half-mile radius to pieces.

"WHERE DID HE GO?" Bellatrix screamed in frustration, striding along amongst the debris of the battle. The street was no longer recognisable as such; everywhere, there was fire, smoke, screams from the Muggles trapped inside their homes, who couldn't understand what was going on. Sirens were blaring, coming closer… Bella kicked bits of rubble out of her way in her anger.

"I _told_ you he could apparate," said Malfoy. His hair was a mess, and he was bleeding from a gash on his cheek. "I told you—"

"SHUT UP!" Bella snapped. She swung out her fist, and yet another nose was broken with a _crack_. Malfoy let out a shriek, his nose had hardly healed, after all – and now it was a bleeding mess once more.

"I want him caught! WHERE DID HE GO? GET ME THE MAP!"

.

* * *

.

Sirius opened his eyes, as he felt solid ground beneath his feet. All around it was completely silent.

He was standing knee-deep in snow, in a small clearing that looked _nothing_ like where he had wanted to go. It was familiar, though – too familiar, really – but that was the farthest thing from Sirius' mind right now. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the pool of red that was melting the snow around him; there was a bit of him missing, he realised, plunging his hand downwards where a bit of flesh had landed, then checking himself over frantically.

Everything hurt; there was no telling which bit was missing – _ah_.

He'd found it.

A slice was gone from his calf, right next to the long gash along his leg, from that Slashing Curse earlier. No wonder he hadn't felt it, his right leg was a mess even without the missing parts; or maybe all the Cruciatus had finally fried his nervous system enough to stop feeling pain.

In another time, another _life_ , Sirius would possibly have freaked out at the sight of all the blood and bits of muscle and sinew and bone that were clearly visible on his leg; but as things stood, he'd become used to it – he only cursed at midvoice, replacing the bit of his leg, feeling like he was assembling a life-size, 3D Sirius puzzle.

Ignoring the fact that it was bleeding profusely, he conjured up a tight bandage around it, and looked around warily. Soon enough, the Munchers would know where he was, unless he transformed into Padfoot.

Only...

He _couldn't_.

He could feel it in his bones; he was shocked to the core by what had happened, and now he had gotten a breather, it was like he was made out of molten lead. Worse than that; he was exhausted, hurt badly enough to stay in bed for a week, and he doubted that he could keep this crazy pace up for long.

Moreover, he'd figured out where he'd landed, and it was very, _very_ bad.

Sirius cursed through gritted teeth. He _one_ place he'd wanted to keep the Death Eaters away from, was the very place he'd led them to. He could see Godric's Hall from here, just past the picturesque little valley that held Godric's Hollow, not a mile ahead.

_Pop._

_Oh_ _**bugger** _ _._

_Pop – pop – pop – BANG._

Sirius closed his eyes, still gripping his wand. He'd wasted precious moments looking to complete his splinched leg, and now they were right around him, stepping out from behind trees and things.

"Oh, you didn't _really_ think you'd get away so easily again, _did you_ , little cousin?"

"Oh _shut up, Bella_ ," Sirius muttered wearily. Still, when he turned around to face her, his wand was steady.

He flashed her a grin, in spite of the situation. If he was as good as dead, well... Sirius squared his shoulders.

_Wand blazing and all that, eh?_

"Go on, then. I _dare_ you," he prompted.

.

* * *

.

Half an hour.

For that exact amount of time, James had been plagued by the most horrid visions yet, interspersed with flashes of pain, exhaustion, sheer utter hopelessness. He couldn't stand it, not knowing where Sirius was, trying to get out of the fix he'd gotten himself into, _voluntarily_ this time. He couldn't bear not knowing anymore, and he had this irrational urge to just—go out and find him. He was sure he'd be able to, he was _certain_ of it.

But he didn't even know where to _start_ looking.

None of the places he saw flashing before his mind's eye were familiar, and the Aurors his Dad had called hadn't even listened when he told them to go look for Sirius. He was dead, they told him. Missing for too long, and just a kid after all. _Nobody_ survived that long when the Death Eaters were after them, and the Ministry's already strained resources were being put to better use. Such as guarding those who still stood a chance.

James left the house at that very moment. Otherwise he'd have cursed the Aurors to bits. They'd left now, promising to double the patrols at Godric's Hollow, and to check in often to see if the Potters were alright. No, sadly they couldn't spare anyone to come stand guard, but they'd try and arrive as soon as the alarms were activated.

James was sitting in the back garden, which was roughly the size of a Quidditch pitch. The hoops were all snowed in, long stalagmites hanging from them like teeth on wide open mouths. Sirius would have liked to see them like this; he'd have had a blast smashing the icy formations to pieces with James' practice Bludgers…

Any other time, Sirius would have been here for the holidays, right where he belonged. With his family; not out there, fighting for his life Merlin-knew-where.

Not _alone_.

James closed his eyes as another vision surfaced, screaming filled his ears which didn't come from here – and suddenly he felt like he'd been sucked through a tube. There was a flash of white, and James nearly toppled off his seat. For a few moments, he could feel _exactly_ what Sirius was feeling, his body hurt sharply all over – and then there was a distinct sense of dismay, of failure. Wherever Sirius had tried to go, it wasn't where he'd landed. He caught a glimpse of…

Blood, flowing freely onto the snow. Sirius was frantic for some reason… And then, he saw…

_What the hell?_

Godric's Hall. The Hollow, from up close…

_Sirius, what did you do?_

"Oh _bugger_ ," James breathed, running towards the front drive again. It was intact, save for Coop's wall… The Death Eaters hadn't been able to breach the wards at all. There wasn't even a dent. "Where are you, Sirius, damn you?"

He was looking past Godric's Hollow, to the spot where he suspected Sirius had landed. He was past caring how he'd done that, or why, but he knew that this time he wasn't wrong. This time, Sirius was actually on the hill opposite.

As if to confirm it, a light-show erupted behind a cluster of trees. Without thinking twice about it, James transformed into his animal form – a huge white stag – and bounded towards the battle at top speed.

.

* * *

 

_CRACK_!

The bone-breaker curse impacted the top half of a tree, making it sway ominously. Sirius came out of a roll, transfiguring the falling stem into a huge mace and propelling it at the Death Eaters.

Already the small clearing he'd landed in was no better off than the Penarth street before; trees were smouldering, the snow no longer white and untouched – it was now a bloody mess, and he wasn't even exaggerating. A few Death Eaters had fallen, unconscious or dead, Sirius didn't give a care.

_He_ was, incredibly, still holding his own, even though he was grossly outnumbered and someone – Malfoy, he hazarded a guess – had been sent to go get Voldemort. Or reinforcements. Or something.

He was deaf out one ear and the other was ringing, as it had for a while now. All the blastings and things hadn't helped at all. It was out of sheer stubbornness that he was still standing, he figured, because the bleeding in his right leg hadn't let up, no matter that he'd conjured a bandage for it earlier; nothing hurt anymore, but he chalked that up to an extreme adrenalin rush.

If he lived to see the next day, it would probably not be a very fun waking.

He raised his wand to cast a Striking Spell at Bella, who was even now, getting up from under that mace. She was harder to kill than the Wicked Witch of the West, _gah_ –

He didn't see the Cruciatus aimed at him from behind. Suddenly the world exploded in white-hot pain, and he knew he was done for—

" _Infenso Impingo_!" a familiar voice shouted. The waves of pain stopped coming. Sirius raised his head, eyes swimming.

There, standing not two feet away, was James, looking angrier than Sirius had ever seen him.

"How about you leave Sirius _alone_ ," he suggested, but it wasn't a question.

Everyone stopped short in their tracks. One Death Eater dropped his wand.

Sirius thought that he would be happy to see his best friend.

He _wasn't_.

"The _hell_ are you doing here?" he wheezed out.

"I thought you needed a hand." The said appendage was offered next, and Sirius took it, but didn't use it to get up. Instead, he pulled James down. A red beam just missed his spiky hair, and a distant _crack_ told Sirius that yet another tree had been felled.

"Get… going." Sirius managed, scrambling to his feet and trying to push James along. "Move, dammit!"

Around them, the Death Eaters couldn't believe their eyes, and, Sirius was sure, their luck. They were stunned at having James right there all of a sudden, but that wouldn't last. Sirius had no idea what to do; his brain seemed to have jammed.

All he _could_ do, for a few excruciating breaths, was stare at Bellatrix, who was the only one who didn't freeze at the sight of their currently most wanted.

"Oh, little cousin," she crooned commiseratingly. "After all the _bother_ you went through so we couldn't get to talk to your Jimmy, here he is… I'm sure you feel like an idiot." She too, looked the worse for wear; her hair was a rat's nest, and she was bleeding from all over it seemed. None of that seemed to stop her, either; she was as crazed as Sirius' mother, those last few days he'd spent at home.

"GET—THEM!" she screeched next. That snapped everyone into motion.

Sadly, it snapped _all_ the Death Eaters into motion at the same time.

James' eyes widened in alarm as too many spells to count whizzed towards them both, making the very air crackle with magic.

.

* * *

TBC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Fireworks. And, um. You'll see. In the next one, there's sadly, very little running... well. Sort of. I like them when they run.


	5. Fireworks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Sirius is in over his head, James gets headbutted, the Potters are resourceful for people their age, and Voldemort's followers get their collective backsides handed to them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine.

* * *

**Part Five: Fireworks**

* * *

The next few moments were a blur.

Sirius grabbed the front of James' robes, and he must have used some wandless levitation spell to throw him out of the way or something, because next he knew, James had landed in the powder halfway down a slope, unharmed by any spell… while the whole forest exploded in a flash of fire.

Screams filled the air, which was ablaze; Death Eaters were running around in a burning frenzy, trying to put themselves out in utter confusion. They were only shadows amidst the smoke billowing every which way, as though a volcano had erupted up there.

James scrambled to his feet, sinking knee-deep into the snow and looking wildly around for Sirius, past his cracked, snow-covered glasses.

" _Sirius_?" He couldn't see him, couldn't sense where he was. Over at the top of the hill, James heard confused spells being cast, could see the beams criss-crossing among the trees.

Of Sirius there was no sign.

 _Could_ _it_ _be_ _…_ He didn't want to think it, but -

_Could it be that he had stayed up there?_

" _Sirius_!" James called, louder now and rather more panicky. He started scrambling back up the slope, sinking into the soft snow, suddenly certain that Sirius had never made it down.

He didn't care that the Death Eaters were all up there, or that every inch of the hilltop was burning. All he cared about was to find his best friend. Sirius was already hurt, he needed help, needed to go to the hospital-

"SIRIUS!" he bellowed, and amidst the confusion on the hilltop, some of the Death Eaters stopped short, looking for the source of his voice. James paid them no mind.

"Wuh?" It was little more than a wheeze. It was also coming from somewhere a few feet below James' line of sight, further downhill from where he'd landed.

"Sirius!" James exclaimed as he turned towards the voice and looked downhill. The next moment, his face fell; Sirius was over half buried in snow, but all around him, the pristine white was getting soaked in red; he wasn't even making to get up, just looking at James strangely through bloodshot, unfocused eyes. Despite the evident, terrible urgency of the situation, he looked... amused. "Sirius... _Gods_ , we've got to get you out of here."

"You go," was the slur he received in response. James scrambled down to reach Sirius' side, stumbling more than he was running. "Go home, James."

" _We're_ going," James corrected, shaking his head and spraying snow everywhere. "Together. As in, you're coming with me."

Sirius shook his own head in response, though it was more of a negative waggle. James ignored him, plunged his hands down into the snow, and started looking for a way to get Sirius out. He had to find both their wands first.

"What—what did you do?" James asked, if only to keep him talking. There was no immediate answer. " _Sirius_ , answer me - what _did_ you do?"

"Dunno... sort of... let their spells crash into each other…"

"I only remember the lights."

"You would… Prongs," Sirius murmured, sounding like he was about to fall asleep. It made alarm bells go off in James' head. He knelt next to Sirius, sinking up to his chest in the snow. "Caught like a deer…"

James snorted at the feeble joke, but it was against his will. Now his panic from earlier had subsided a bit, it made way for quite another set of feelings and emotions. His mind, which had jammed up until now, started working overtime, assessing the situation and coming to a handful of terrible conclusions.

First, Sirius was badly hurt, how badly remained to be seen, but—everywhere he touched, he touched a sticky warm substance he decided against speculating about. Worse still, now they were together, James could feel, like an extension of himself, that Sirius didn't have much time left. His throat closed over, finding his wand and summoning Sirius' with it. As soon as his fingers closed around it, he knew something was wrong. This wand wasn't the one he remembered-

"You…" Sirius managed to grit out, "You're…"

"What? I'm _what_?" James asked urgently. The voices all around were screaming less and sounding rather more intelligible. The Death Eaters were recovering from the blow Sirius had dealt them.

And they sounded _angry_.

They had to get out of here, James knew. But it was evident to him that Sirius couldn't walk. Worse still, it looked like he didn't even want to try.

"You… you're… standing on my foot," Sirius slurred. "Gerroff."

"Sorry." James stepped aside, plunging his hands down into the snow again to try and find Sirius' arm. "We have to—"

" _You_ have to," Sirius corrected. "I'm staying, James. I'm _tired_."

"You're insane."

"They'd agree with you."

"I'm not leaving you here, don't be stupid," James snapped. He had found Sirius' arm and proceeded to peel him from the ground, which looked ready to swallow him whole.

Sirius grunted something unintelligible. He was only conscious because James was talking to him and pulling him up, but James knew that given the chance, Sirius would pass out right then and not give a care what happened to him after.

"How'd you get here?" James found that Sirius' wand - this strange, unfamiliar one - worked just fine for him too, and after, getting Sirius out of the snow was easy. In a matter of a few flicks and jabs at the air, thick mist surrounded them and their every last track was masked with charms.

"Didn't mean to," Sirius murmured, so low James could barely hear him. Being an Animagus, his hearing and sense of smell were overdeveloped, but still it was hard to hear what Sirius was saying. "Had to run..."

"Well, it's not exactly over," James muttered, now sitting Sirius up. "There's still some more running to be done here."

" _Nuugh_."

"Yeah. Let's get you home now," James replied, hoisting Sirius up. It was hard to see what all he'd come off with, but he didn't need to be a Healer to be able to tell that Sirius was dying.

"Don't," Sirius slurred out next.

"Shut up, Sirius." James adjusted one of Sirius' arms around his neck, getting ready to haul him onto his back. "Oy! Stop it-" But Sirius was pushing him away, staggering onto his feet.

"I said. _Don't_." Sirius' tone was final, angry even, and James was so surprised he couldn't react. Instead, he stared at him uncomprehendingly, his ears picking up the voices of Death Eaters who were already trying to track them down. They didn't have much time. But Sirius seemed to have lost all his notion of time... Along with his marbles.

"Wha-"

"No matter where I go, they're there," Sirius said, and he was shaking his head as if to clear it, finally acknowledging the bunch of swearing, toasty witches and wizards who seemed to have started combing the area; it wouldn't be long before they were spotted. He sounded urgent when he spoke next.

"Un... Unless I go dog, but I _can't_ , not anymore. It's a Trace of some sort and I can't get it off... _Nothing_ _works_ , James. They always know where I am. So, you go that way," he said next, firmly and sounding - momentarily- almost coherent. He was pointing downwards, towards the path James had intended to take. "I'll go that way, they'll probably catch up with me over there..." Sirius pointed down the other side, to the river and away from where James wanted them to go. He understood what Sirius was on about, sort of, and what he was trying to do - sort of - and shook his head, horrified. "Just go. Go home."

"Shut up, Sirius," James said again, grabbing his arm once more and yanking him towards Godric's Hollow. Sirius struggled against his hold, protesting but capable of little more than disconnected sounds. James had to fairly drag him away, making snow swirl up to cover their progress. It was a flimsy cover, but it would have to do.

"No- no, James, _please_ ," he argued, even as James leaned him against a tree to keep from being spotted. Both their breaths were coming in heavy gasps, and Sirius' was hitched. "Please... Just go."

"I'm not leaving you and that's that," James hissed urgently. Sirius just watched him, half frustrated, half touched. "C'mon-" Sirius moved- but again, it wasn't in any direction that was convenient to James.

" _Ow_! You dolt- Choo do that for?" Sirius had just _headbutted_ him, so hard James was seeing stars. Not a second later, he was seeing much more than that. James gasped as memories that didn't belong to him took over.

Sirius' memories, or rather, flashes of memories, flooded him. He saw things how Sirius had seen them, how he had felt them. He saw flashes of Voldemort, aiming his wand at him, heard snatches of sentences, as disconnected as the images, the feelings jumbled haphazardly in his mind, such as Sirius himself recalled them.

Now he was running down deserted streets, Death Eaters in pursuit; the next instant, he was before Alfie's house; the next, a letter flashed before his mind's eye; he saw fields, a newspaper in some kitchen, a house in shambles even as Lucius closed in on him; he saw through Sirius' eyes as a dog, how Death Eaters passed him without a second glance, saw a girl, now standing, now bleeding to death. Some images were familiar, others, the more gory ones, he'd wondered about for days.

It made no sense, but then, it didn't need to. James and Sirius were one in two bodies, and the link they had was doing its job, completing a chilling story in the space of a single breath.

Two words rang clearly in his mind: _Tristram_ _Trace_. Where had he heard that before?

James stared at Sirius, horrified, even as the world dissolved around him and his knees gave way. A dizzying, sick feeling gripped James, and he couldn't stand up. Sirius watched him for a moment, and James knew that he was having trouble focusing, that he was beyond exhausted... That he wasn't going to move.

Not to run, anyway.

 _Put_ _your_ _cloak_ _on,_ _James._ _It's_ _you_ _they_ _want._ _Hide_. The voice rang in his head, calm as you please, placid even. _Now_.

Not a second later, a handful of Death Eaters had apparated around them, he was under his cloak, leaning against a tree for support. His mind was still reeling from the massive amount of information that had just been jammed into his brain, struggling to understand what Sirius had tried to tell him with the explanatory headbutt of doom, while trying to keep very quiet under his cloak; headbutt or no, he needed to get them out of this mess, before Sirius got himself in even _more_ trouble.

Oh yes, there was _still_ room for improvement in that regard, and James could tell he was planning to drive them bonkers. It was his speciality, after all, and his last resort right now; Sirius didn't even have a wand – James was still holding on to it – and James suspected Sirius wouldn't have been able to do much with it even if he'd had it.

Bellatrix, a very dishevelled one that looked like someone had tried to turn her into a waffle and left her in the pan for too long – there was a criss-crossing pattern of soot all over her – was towering over Sirius, a handful of feet away. And she was angrier than James had ever seen her.

"I will _kill_ _you_!"

Sirius smiled wanly.

"Go right ahead," he said, and even now he somehow managed to sound completely at ease. It drove Bellatrix to distraction.

"Where's Potter?" she snarled, jabbing the tip of her wand at him.

Sirius grinned and shrugged. In the half-light of the wands shining on him, he looked like a corpse. A rather mangled, crazed one; James' mind was racing, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle Sirius had given him together while simultaneously trying to figure out a way out of this huge mess. Bellatrix' threat was very real, and even if Sirius didn't seem to care about it, James did. But he could hardly keep upright while his mind was going through the host of memories and thoughts flooding it. He couldn't even think straight –

"Are you _deaf_?" The screech made James jump and knock into the tree he was hiding behind. He feared for an instant the Death Eaters would hear him, but they were too focused on Sirius to notice.

"No. But I wish I was..." Sirius wasn't exactly helping himself here; in a blinking, Bellatrix had him by the front of his coat and was shaking him roughly.

"Where – is – _Potter_?"

"Oh you know, somewhere..." Sirius landed in the snow next, chuckling despite the blow he'd just gotten. Bellatrix stomped over, grabbed him by he sodden front of his coat again. "He _does_ live around here, you know. Ask the neighbours."

"Just wait until the Dark Lord is done with you," she snarled, and Sirius laughed; a barking guffaw escaped him that was neither hysterical nor crazed – he sounded like Bellatrix had just told him a hilarious joke.

"You think that's funny, do you?" she spat. Sirius nodded. "You think you're so clever, giving the Dark Lord the slip – he _let_ you get this far, you Mudblood-loving piece of dirt. He _wanted_ you to find Potter, and that's exactly what you did. No-one can escape him, least of all _you_. Now, do you _still_ think that's funny?"

"Priceless," Sirius answered, coughing out some blood. Bellatrix though, was off on a bit of a rant.

"He wants you for some reason. And you won't escape again," she said nastily, grinning at him like a hungry hyena. "I promise you – you'll suffer more than you could imagine."

"Will I get to stop listening to you? Because your mindless drivel is already making me suffer more than I could imagine." James gave an inward groan. Sirius had no self-preservation skills at _all_.

James stared at the scene, as his mind helpfully provided countless images of Sirius' run from her over the past handful of days, answering whatever questions he could have had on the matter. Now James knew the relevant bits of it, it was a miracle he'd lasted this long; he wasn't in any condition to stand, and he still needled his cousin as though this were one of Hogwarts' hallways.

"Give me Potter! _Now_!" This couldn't carry on.

"Make me."

Or last.

Sirius landed in a heap in the snow, which wasn't surprising. James tensed for a leap-

" _Crucio_!"

This wasn't surprising either - in fact, it was expected to some extent. The instant James snapped into motion, something clicked in his mind.

Things fell into place; he understood. All of a sudden, he knew what to do and how. He darted forward-

The Cruciatus never hit.

.

* * *

.

"They'll catch up. They'll _catch_ _up,_ _James_... They always do." Sirius was leaning against a tree, panting like he'd run a mile, when in reality it had only been a few yards. In the background, the confused shouting had resumed, as the Death Eaters - now joined with their still able comrades from the hilltop - were furiously trying to fight off the trees James had charmed into motion and sent after them.

From where they were, a few score feet away, it looked like the entire forest was on the move.

"They _won't_ get us, _trust_ _me_." James said firmly, trying to sound calm as he cast a few bandaging spells on Sirius, to keep him from bleeding to death before they got away; his newly-formulated plan required him to be alive to work. "Now stay still, you're still leaking-"

Sirius though, had made up his mind; he argued feebly but no less vehemently, tried to get up, to pull the cloak off him. Then again, James had made up his mind as well - and he was as stubborn as Sirius, _and_ he had a plan. He bandaged Sirius up despite his protests, which were reduced to winces and gasps before he was done. Once he could be certain all major leaks had been plugged, he hauled Sirius to his feet in one fluid movement. Sirius groaned, knees buckling.

"You're not dying, you hear me?" James informed him firmly. Only, Sirius was not in a state fit to answer. Or stand. Or do anything except pass out. "Not tonight, not before I do. _Promise_."

"Mugh."

" _Promise_!"

"... 'Mright." That was good enough for James, even if Sirius had said it just to end the argument.

"C'mon, then." In a practised, fluid motion, James hoisted Sirius onto his back and strapped him to it; he waved his wand again and turned him into his dog self.

Instantly, there was cursing from behind the trees.

"Not _again_!" Bellatrix sounded frustrated beyond anything. She wasn't the only one. "Track him! He can't get away! We can't lose him! He's half-dead, FIND HIM!" James pocketed his cloak, disillusioned Sirius and himself...And went stag.

.

* * *

.

Aurors were popping up all over the outskirts of Godric's Hollow, while the Death Eaters tried to make sense of what, exactly, had just happened.

They had most certainly _not_ had the best of days - the Black brat had given them a hell of a fight, before they chased him down to Godrics' Hollow – who in their right minds would ever put a wand in his hand? - and then _Potter_ showed up and in short succession, they were engulfed in fire, battered and beaten by moving trees... And now, they had to _run_ from the Aurors.

And endure Bellatrix' wrath on top of it.

There wasn't a single one amongst them who didn't have a score to settle with the Black brat - he had ruined their Yule party, he had caused their Christmas to be cancelled, which they'd spent running after him in the cold and snow rather than warm and happy at home; some hadn't seen their families for a week, and if they didn't catch him soon, they'd be still out in the freezing cold, battered and grumpy, come New Year's.

It would be _easy_ , they'd been told - the kid had had a Tristram Trace implanted that was nearly impossible to break, and the mother had kept a Tracking Map custom-made for just that purpose. But the kid had managed to vanish into thin air over and over again, just as they were _this_ close to capture.

Nobody had ever lasted this long, not with the focused search going on for him; the Dark Side's Ministry contacts were looking, under the guise of the MLE; posters had been placed at Muggle public places, and after the last attempt, the press had been led to believe Sirius Black wasn't missing, but had run away from home to join the Dark Lord and had killed that Muggle girl in Penarth earlier. There was no proof for it and given a trial he'd walk - but it would turn his chances for help from the wizarding community to zero.

Still they tried to capture him and ended up grabbing at thin air, and for witches and wizards used to _always_ having the upper hand, no matter the situation, this was most unusual and most - _most_ \- vexing.

However, capture wasn't on their minds any longer. They had had trouble enough trying to catch him, had already had to endure, not the Dark Lord's, but the _mother's_ wrath enough times to loathe him even if they would, under any other circumstances, have shown some manner of respect for a pureblood wizard of the Black family; even his own mother had told Bellatrix she wanted him dead, and though the Dark Lord's plans for him required him to be alive, the Death Eaters were more inclined to humour Walburga Black than him. The kid was already dying after all, they couldn't be blamed if he arrived before the Dark Lord in bits.

Collateral damage, as it were.

Their plan had been to do what Voldemort had wanted Black to do, and deliver the Potter kid alive and Black dead; they figured the Dark Lord wouldn't really mind if one hadn't made it, as long as he got what he wanted in the end.

This was a war, after all- people died all the time.

That was the whole _point_ of it.

"Godric's Hall!" Bellatrix screeched, oblivious to the criss-crossing beams of spells whizzing past around them. They had felled a few of those damned walking trees and turned them into a makeshift bunker, while the greater part of the Death Eaters was duelling the Aurors and villagers who had dared stand up to them. She was a firm believer that anyone who was true to the Dark Lord had no reason to fear death or capture, that truth to the cause gave one a special sort of immunity from spells. So while left and right her companions fell, she paid them no mind and strode around as though she owned the place.

Right now, Rabastan, Lucius and herself were deep in an angry, hissed conversation.

"I don't know how the hell he does it," she hissed, "But, let's look at it objectively. He's dying..."

"Small blessings," muttered Lucius, and cast a shield charm over their heads, though they weren't the main targets of the battle. Others were taking care of it; there were enough of them, after all, and just a handful of Aurors. There _was_ indeed a sort of safety in numbers.

"Shut it!" snapped Bellatrix, "The Potter brat wouldn't take him anywhere else, though he might try St. Mungo's."

"Why doesn't Black show up on the map, though?" Rabastan wondered, puzzled. "He should, unless he's dead - and we've thought we killed him enough times already, only to have him pop up _again_."

"Yeah, but this time it could be true. He could hardly stand earlier."

"We'll check the Potter house." Rodolphus decided. It didn't come as a surprise; he always did her bidding... As did everyone with an ounce of survival sense. Bellatrix was as dangerous to her enemies as she was to her so-called friends; anything that went against what she wanted, was labelled by her as disloyalty to the cause and punished severely. Nobody had seen the Dark Lord mind this sort of behaviour, or Bellatrix punished for it, which made her keep everyone under her thumb. All in the Dark Lord's name, of course.

"If he's dead, there has to be a body. If he's not, we need to collect James Potter anyway. If we hand him in, the Dark Lord won't mind if Black doesn't show up, and the kid can die for all we care."

"But I want to _kill_ _him_ ," Bellatrix pouted, even as the Dark Mark shot up into the sky.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, you'll get to do it, if we get the chance." This seemed to please her, because she grinned widely as she grabbed the map and disapparated. The others followed, calling retreat, and moments later, the Aurors and villagers daft enough to fight back were standing alone in the smoke and fog. The Dark Side had their names; they'd pay for this insolence later.

.

* * *

.

The large white stag bounded out of a stretch of forest, crossing wards that made it glow momentarily. With the snow as a backdrop, it was as good as invisible the next instant. There was nobody to see it, though; most of the village was either out on the streets or hurrying home, while alarms sounded their warning: Death Eaters had been spotted, the signs of battle could still be clearly seen on the hill opposite the valley. Whoever wasn't rushing to help the Aurors was locking themselves in, hoping for the best and preparing for the worst.

The stag cantered to the side of a house at the top of Godric's Hill, oblivious to the din from the town below. The next moment, it shifted, turning into a dishevelled boy. One who seemed weighed down by an invisible, heavy something.

James adjusted Sirius on his back, making for the back door. No sooner had he stumbled inside, that his parents had hurried over, alarmed and ashen-faced.

"James, _where_ _have_ _you_ _been_?"

"We thought you had gotten caught – the Death Eaters are out there again!"

"What on _earth_ made you leave the house?" his mother asked, hurrying forward as he unstrapped Sirius' bulky form from his back. "There's a battle out there! My God, that's blood – are you hurt?"

"I'm okay, Mum. It's not mine. Help me -"

"What is this?"

James let the motionless form slide onto the kitchen floor, where it blended with the tiles a moment later, then turned back and locked the door securely, while answering over his shoulder.

"Sirius."

" _Where_?" Betty was instantly heading for the window. "Not a fake one again?"

"No," James answered, "The real deal this time. Nobody else is _that_ thick-headed."

"Where is he then? Is he out there?"

"Right there," James answered. "Give me a hand, Dad." He rapped Sirius' head with his wand, and the dog, black, thin and with tufts of fur gone, could be seen.

"You've got to be _joking_ -" Betty whispered, aghast.

"That's one large dog, son."

"Tell me about it. And I said Remus had furry problems... He isn't half as heavy to carry."

"Dear Lord..." Betty had come closer, had spotted the blood-soaked bandages on Padfoot's torso and legs. James leaned in next to her, worried. Sirius had passed out the second James hoisted him onto his back, and he wasn't stirring.

"He's breathing at least—he _is_ breathing, right?" James asked worriedly. Now he was home, safe from an attack for the moment, now that help was here, fear took the chance and gripped him.

"Yes, I believe so… Why is he a dog again?"

"Dad, he's got a spell on him."

"Yeah I can see that, he's a _dog_." James stared at his dad uncomprehendingly for a moment, then shook his head.

"No, it's... He can turn into a dog, it's another kind of spell what's the problem. Some sort of tracking spell. Whenever he goes human, they find him." If his parents were surprised to hear this, they hid it remarkably well.

"They...? The—the Death Eaters?"

"Find him, yeah. We need to get it off, and we need to get it off without the Death Eaters finding out where he is. They'd be on him like... like stink on cheese."

"Well, don't leave him lying there – we need to get him upstairs. To the spare room." Betty had recovered from her initial shock, and was gently moving Sirius' canine form around, as though half-dead surrogate kids turned animals popped by every so often; she was all business, calm and in control of the situation where James was a bundle of nerves. "Take him upstairs, honey. I'll be up in a second, I think we have some bandages over here, and… and herbs, and I think we kept some of the potions from when James broke his arm in the Summer..."

James and Coop wasted no time obeying. Coop conjured a stretcher, and together they levitated the large dog to the room next to James'.

"Alphard told me about something like this, a few days ago, remember?"

"He told you Sirius was coming?" James asked, helping his dad lie Sirius on the guest room bed.

"Not quite." Coop sounded pressured as he tried to recall everything. "I didn't understand it at all. He told me of that old spell they used on Azkaban prisoners before they brought the Dementors there. Something to track them, no matter where they went."

"The Tristram Trace!" James exclaimed. That was where he'd heard the name before!

"Yes, I thought the whole situation with Sirius had made him lose his head, or that he wished he could use that spell to find him."

" _Dad_." James was forcibly trying to remain calm. "You're _rambling_. What's that spell about?" Coop though, simply ignored him, adjusting Padfoot on the bed and making sure he was still breathing.

"Some old families used to cast it, when they had unruly children, or simply to keep track of them, but usually it was broken before they went to school, it's a very old spell, you see…"

"Can you break it?" James interrupted impatiently.

"I think I might, but... he needs to be human for that."

"He's pretty badly off, he won't be able to transform." James took a deep breath. "Okay, I'll do it. What else do you need?" He raised his wand, ready to cast the spell-

"Wait -"

" _What_?"

"I do need to get some things."

"Doesn't _everyone_? Gah." James waited impatiently, while his mum clattered around downstairs, gathering things together with a house-elf's help and his dad turned his study upside-down, looking for Merlin-knew-what. Finally he returned, with a leather bag, the sort Healers used for house calls.

"All right son, go ahead." James hesitated before casting, afraid of what they'd see when he did, but he took a deep breath and a second later Sirius' body shifted, turned into...

"Sweet Merlin..."

That was a way to describe it. Sirius was very pale, and now he could get a good look in, James' certainty that he'd die at any moment only grew. His lips were dry and cracked, his head and neck caked in glistening, congealing blood. The coat he was wearing looked like it was originally sort of brown, but had acquired a dark red tint to it that made it look like someone had splattered paint on it. His clothes were torn and wet, letting them see deathly white skin wherever it wasn't caked in blood. It was frightening to watch, and for a moment, both just stood there, horrified and motionless.

"The _Trace_ , dad. They'll be here soon, go on," James urged. His dad snapped out of it.

"Yes, quite right." Coop set to work, casting various complicated-looking spells on Sirius to detect where the Tristram Trace had been placed, while James shifted nervously from one foot to the other, watching Sirius for any signs of life with apprehension and worried that the Death Eaters might break through the wards any minute now. He had to help his dad flip Sirius over. Sirius was struggling to breathe, and very cold to the touch.

"Oh, dear…" Coop said, when one spot on Sirius' neck started to glow. "They put it there." James wondered what was so bad about breaking the spell, but when his when his dad had to cut through skin to get to it, it was abundantly clear what was so bad about it. He exposed a shiny something a moment later. Sirius struggled against James' hold

"What's that?" James asked, aghast.

"It's… it looks like... a button. It's a crest."

"That damned old hag!" James exclaimed angrily. They hadn't just cast something - they'd literally put something inside him!

"Put up a Silencing Charm. And stop shouting, I can't think when you do that."

"What's going on?" Betty had arrived, every last healing supply in her arms, and the gasp she let out next wasn't surprising. Coop did short work of explaining the situation, while he looked for tweezers to pull the thing out. James was simply incapable, shaking with anger and outrage.

"Hold him still, he won't like this at all," he instructed. James didn't need telling twice, much less when Sirius started thrashing about in sheer agony the second Coop started casting spell after spell- and then, finally, he pulled out a tiny golden pin, on which the Black crest had been engraved. Sirius let out something like a whimper and went completely limp.

"Give me that." James demanded at once, striding across the room and turning a vase into a... very accurate likeness of Sirius on a broomstick. He was shaking with anger and fear, appalled by what he'd learned and rattled to the core at the same time. "Go to the North sea," he ordered through gritted teeth, attaching the Trace to the broomstick with a permanent sticking charm. "When those bastards come, go as deep underwater as you can go, and _stay_ _there_." He watched the effigy fly away, soaring across the darkened sky. Not a handful of seconds had passed, when shadows started moving outside, and moments later, they disappeared from the edge of the wards all around the house. He fancied he could hear Bellatrix exclamation of, "Ooh I _see_ him! Over there! After him!"

With some luck, they wouldn't bother them again so soon.

Only, luck was ever so hard to come by lately.

When James turned around, the sight that met his eyes was something out of a nightmare. His parents had started by undressing Sirius, who was out of it again. James sucked in a breath, paling, if possible, even further.

"Maybe you should wait downstairs, son."

He shook his head resolutely.

"I'm not going anywhere. Just tell me what I need to do."

.

* * *

"He'll be all right, won't he?"

It was the first thing out of James' mouth since they had started patching Sirius up hours earlier. It was the middle of the night now, and all three Potters were exhausted. But it had been worth it: Sirius was resting at last, under the watchful eye of their most trusted house-elf, so they could try and unwind a little. James wouldn't, though. He was fretful and jumpy and itching to get back upstairs. "Can't we take him to St. Mungo's?"

"They'd just arrest him for that thing with the Muggle girl, dear," Betty answered tiredly. She looked ashen-faced and careworn as she sipped her tea. "It's in the paper, a special late edition. He's wanted for murder."

" _What_?" James groaned in frustration. He was close to tears with despair, frayed to the last nerve. "What sort of unzipped moron would blame _him_ for killing anyone?"

Lots, apparently.

From being, first a tragic disappearance and then a casualty of war, Sirius had gone on to being a young and very deranged Death Eater who had escaped a caring, loving home to join the Dark Side, James learned upon skimming the paper. It was completely surreal.

"There's got to be something we can do," he said tiredly. "Sirius would never kill anyone, anyone with eyes can see that. It's _ridiculous_."

"I'll try and get in touch with Dumbledore," his Dad offered, taking the paper from James' hands, where he was holding it in a death grip. "He'll be all right; but I fear there's nothing to be done for it tonight."

"Will Dumbledore hear him out, though? We sort of... glued his furniture to the ceiling before we left school for Christmas break." Coop couldn't help chuckling at that, wrapping his arms around his suddenly even more worried, remorseful son. He was so grown-up in many ways, but at times like this, Coop saw he was still just a boy, afraid and lost and in need for protection and help. "And all his things too, exactly as they were..." James murmured thickly, burying his face in Coop's shoulder. "We even put the portraits upside-down... It was _brilliant_." And it could well be the last time they ever did something like that together.

Coop held James a bit tighter, trying to be comforting and to sound more optimistic than he felt.

"I don't believe he'll mind that," he said soothingly. "Albus secretly loves your antics... And you'll be back to raising hell together before you know it. He will have to hear me out – and he's a good man, he knows truth when he sees it. Right now though, it's more important to make sure Sirius stays safe with us and gets better again. We'll worry about the rest later."

.

* * *

.

It wasn't until New Year's Eve that Sirius woke up for longer than a few minutes.

James hadn't left his side for any length of time, except for loo breaks and short naps, through two attacks on the house and village, even... and he'd started wondering if he'd ever wake up at all.

He had been sitting on his usual chair by Sirius' bed, alternating his activity pool between staring at the swirling snow outside and the motionless form of his best friend on the bed, just as he'd been doing for the past five days.

He'd been doing a lot of thinking during that time, a lot of fretting and worrying, and though Sirius had been declared stable the previous morning, there had been little change since; Sirius didn't even move on his own, except for random twitches here and there, and sometimes it looked like he wasn't even breathing. Some other times, well... he hadn't been breathing, but Poops had taken care of that. He was covered in enough bandages to make King Tut's mother proud, and the bits of exposed skin were chalk-white.

Sirius had woken up for short periods every day to be fed or to drink potions, but it never lasted long, and it was always miserable; sometimes he'd recognise James, sometimes he'd try and scoot away from him, convinced he'd been captured by the Death Eaters and needed to run again; and he'd often have nightmares, made worse by fevers that had kept all three Potters up all night trying to stop them.

He hadn't stirred all afternoon, though, and James hadn't either.

He'd read Sirius a few letters from Moony and Peter to pass the time, to have something that wasn't a tense, worried silence, but they were both mourning Sirius' alleged death, and the letters were depressing. What made it worse was the fact that James had been advised by Dumbledore, who had believed Coop's account and was helping them, not to tell anyone Sirius was alive, for fear of another attack, and 'anyone' included Remus and Peter. There were no firecalls, either, since James' Dad had disconnected the Floo all over the house except for the one in his office. James wouldn't have known what to tell them either way, if he was faced with them right now. He couldn't comfort them, or get his own hopes up; not even Madam Pomfrey ever had good news for him, she was an excellent Healer and still had her work cut out for her.

It simply _didn't_ look good, no matter how he tried to look at it.

He had told Sirius a few jokes and talked to him as though he were awake, though, reminiscing on last schoolyear's adventures; he'd even played some of Sirius' favourite music on the wireless for a little while, but Sirius hadn't so much as twitched.

Now it was nearly midnight and Sirius was stirring at _last_ , slowly lapsing back into consciousness. James sprung from his chair as though fitted with springs, perching on the side of the bed.

"Welcome back," he said, carefully keeping his voice soft, as Madam Pomfrey had instructed. She'd come from Hogwarts several times a day to do her healing on Sirius. He still looked half dead, but... He was recovering and that was what mattered.

Sirius was looking _at_ him, but not really seeing him, James knew. He was too weak to block him out any longer, and James could once more sense exactly what his friend was thinking or feeling, or looking at, which right now was a very messy-haired, bespectacled blur he was trying to match a name to.

Suddenly, a sharp whistling sound was heard outside, followed by a blast. Sirius, who'd been blinking slowly ahead, gave a start and tried to get up, away from what he was certain was a volley of spells. James inwardly cursed, but when he spoke, his tone was gentle and reassuring.

"It's all right, mate. It's only fireworks," he said, and Sirius' eyes fixed themselves on him again, wide and alarmed. He still wasn't focusing well, which James had gotten used to. It always took him a long time to realise where he was and who was around. His next, instinctive movement was also predictable. "No, no, no. No going dog here - you'll lose the bandages and Mum spent _ages_ getting them on proper. Take it easy, it's okay."

Sirius stared at James as if he were seeing him for the first time. He'd recognised him at last. James forced out a bright, winning smile.

"Yes, it's me. You can start celebrating now."

Sirius just blinked slowly, but he wasn't about to pass out and that was enough to get James' feelings to soar. Any other time he'd have been loud and things, but the past few days had taught him patience, and he needed a lot of it now. As though it were a rehearsed play, Sirius moved on to the next bit of a dialogue James could play out in his sleep. It was always the same, and Madam Pomfrey said it was due to bloodloss and one too many whacks to the head, and that it would go away on its own when he got better.

"There's this… this trace…" Sirius slurred out, when he seemed satisfied that it was indeed James before him. His voice was low and raspy; James reached for warm tea he kept at the ready for this purpose.

"Not anymore," he answered, in much the same way he answered every time. "Dad got rid of it, remember? Just relax for a bit. You're safe here, you've been safe for _days_. There's no Trace, no danger."

"What is this place?" came next, two cups of tea later. It took Sirius a long time just to decide that James was right... and that he had no clue where he was. Then again, he'd not been awake long enough to get to a different sort of conversation before now. It was music to James' ears.

"My room, don't you recognise it? Well, it's quite technically _our_ room now, but-"

"It's… different," Sirius established. He sounded far away, but his thoughts were a jumble and he was trying to sort them out, tallying the room he remembered with this one.

"Yes, well. I told dad how much of a mess you were to live with, so he took down a wall," James explained, gesturing around the - now much, much larger- bedroom without losing his cheerful exterior. "This used to be one of the spare rooms, you see. Well, two actually, I convinced them you needed lots and lots of space so we have a game zone now. You can thank me later for it. Dad put your bed here, as you can see... Mine is over there, just like you remember, or will remember when you get better... Mum brought a second wardrobe in too. It's so you can put your things inside," he added brightly. "Mum wanted you to have your own room, but we both know you'd have ended up here anyhow, so... we changed things a little." Sirius blinked, looking at the large room and trying to follow what James had told him.

"It's... different." Sirius repeated. James deflated, then shrugged.

"Yeah, I reckon it is."

Outside, the New Year's firework show had started.

Godric's Hollow wasn't such an old village for nothing; the battle of a few days prior had done little to mar the festivities, and celebrations went on as scheduled. If anything, the Hollow's inhabitants celebrated harder, spitting the darkness in the eye, as it were. Sirius had gone quiet, but he was awake still, and he was looking out at the clear, starry sky and the bursts of sparks that lit it up. James widened the window, so they could both watch the fireworks, the distant music and laughter of the village trailing faintly to their ears. He adjusted Sirius' pillows so he could be more comfortable, but almost as soon as he returned to his seat he was immersed in his own thoughts; they were hopeful, for once, and he could appreciate yet again how important Sirius was to him. Just having him awake and nearby changed everything, for the better.

"Prongs?" Sirius' voice was little more than a whisper.

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"You'd know better than me. For everything you did... you're doing... Thanks."

"It's not a problem. I should thank you, for the warnings. Saved our collective Potter backsides."

They fell quiet again, watching the brightly-coloured sparks in various shapes and forms light up the sky, the loud " _Ooh's_ " and " _Aaah's_ " of the crowd outside the only sound in the room.

"I can't stay here," Sirius murmured next, breaking the silence.

"What? What's wrong with this? Is it the bed? We can move it in the morning-"

"They'll come, James. You've got enough problems as it is. I should go."

"Shut up and don't be stupid, and lie back down before Mum comes running up here."

"But… but the Death Eaters…"

"They _were_ here, _and_ they're _gone_. And," James added, gently pushing Sirius back down against his pillows, "You aren't going anywhere. You're staying. Here. For good."

Sirius blinked. If anyone half-dead could look gob-smacked, that was him. James snorted. What did he expect, _honestly_?

"Well," James answered the unspoken question, "you can't stay at Hogwarts all the time, it's not fashionable."

"Wasn't gonna."

"Too right you weren't. You're staying _here_ , where I can make sure you're not in any kind of trouble where I can't be too."

Sirius snorted, but he clearly didn't find it amusing.

"What? Look at the state of you. I leave you alone for five minutes, and you see what happened." He expected Sirius to snort or chuckle, not look miserable.

"I'm sorry." Now that was new. James frowned at Sirius' suddenly contrite expression.

"Whatever for?"

"Figured you'd know why. Kinda... threw it out there to see if it stuck."

James smiled. "It didn't. There's nothing to be sorry for, mate. Mum and dad are thrilled to have you here, and so am I."

" _Why_?"

It was a loaded question, but James had learned more than just patience in the last few days. He'd also learned how Sirius' mind worked now, he knew some of what he'd been through, and he knew how to talk to him... And most importantly, _when_. And it wasn't a topic to discuss right now.

"With you here, I won't be the only guilty party anymore." He grinned. Sirius turned back to look out the window, bemused. James watched him for a moment, waiting for him to argue back, like he knew he would. Or should.

He didn't.

"Padfoot?"

"Wha?"

"You're staying. That's the end of it."

Neither said anything for a long time. Sirius, because he couldn't formulate a valid argument and was too slow still to be able to react properly. He was torn between gratitude and heartache, disbelief at the fact he didn't have to run any longer, and half willing to believe this was just a nice dream; James, because he was exercising his newly discovered powers as the guru of patient friendship. Outside, the countdown to 1976 started.

" _Ten!_ _Nine!_ _Eight!_ _"_

"Sirius?" He ventured. Sirius had all but fused himself with the pillows and looked close to dozing.

"Hmm?"

" _Three! TWO! ONE!"_

"Happy new year, Padfoot."

Sirius smiled wanly. It was tiny, but it was _there_ , and it made James' hopes rise more than anything.

Just as he'd felt nothing was worth celebrating when Sirius went missing before Christmas, now he could sympathise with his neighbours celebration completely; it was 1976.

It was a new year, a new start... And he had his brother back. It made everything worthwhile, even if things were far from all right. They still had to clear his name and decide where to go from here, but they were together and that was what made everything better. Dumbledore would help, he'd promised as much - but that was all for later. Right now, what mattered was this moment and what it meant for them both: a future. A better one.

Sirius felt it too. He was still smiling.

"Happy new year to you too, Prongs."

.

* * *

TBC. R&R

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Dumbledore gets involved, James doesn't want to go to school, the Death Eaters have to suffer the consequences of their actions, and Coop tries to poison Sirius.


	6. Second Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally in this chapter: James was going to become deranged, Sirius was getting outlawed, Snape was getting tentacles, and McGonagall was getting a twitch. Not in that order.
> 
> However! I could never give Snape the tentacles. Hell, I couldn't even manage to send James to school, which was the whole point of this one. Sorta. He's one stubborn bugger, I'll give him that.
> 
> So then, tentacles and twitches will have to wait. Instead, Sirius does get outlawed, James is the guru of patience, James' mum is the mother we all dream to have when we're ill, and James' dad is trying to poison his surrogate kid.

* * *

**Part Six: Second Son**

* * *

 

Time had lost all meaning.

Everything had, those few days — weeks? — that followed his last, halfway complete memory.

One moment, he'd been in the cold, in the snow… he'd been dying; he'd been _trying to_ , in fact, but something — someone, _James_ — had kept him from it. It was a distant, sketchy memory at best. The next thing he remembered — or thought he remembered — things had changed, but he couldn't tell how or why.

He spent his time alternating between periods of warm, hazy darkness, interrupted by — much shorter — periods of a half-arsed sort of consciousness. Sometimes, during these periods, there were hands that moved him around, which often hurt enough to make him pass out again; or something he couldn't for the life of him identify trickled down his throat now and then. What stirred him most were the voices, such familiar voices, that spoke to him in soft, hushed tones. He held glimpses of faces, sometimes familiar, sometimes completely alien, in sharp focus once or twice; but he couldn't really even bring himself to wonder who it was, hovering over him every so often.

Part of him knew where he was and who he was with and didn't need to figure anything out, but this part was hurting and quite detached from his conscious mind, which in turn was so slow he often forgot what he was wondering about before he had even managed to remember the answer to half thought-out questions. The rest of him seemed to have had enough of the world and shut itself so completely off that it was like swimming in a pool of blackness.

The only constant was the pain. It was ever-present, sometimes sharp and searing, sometimes a dull, throbbing ache that made it nearly impossible to focus on anything, made him not even want to try. Movement was impossible on his own, and any sort of position became uncomfortable after a few moments, making it harder still to stay awake; and then there were fevers, and times — there were many of these — where someone was touching and prodding and sponging right where it hurt most… And then, as if the gods of wherever he was had taken pity on him, it was back to a warm, dark nothing.

Sirius liked it there, to the point he wished he'd never wake up again; everything was much simpler there. Nothing hurt or worried him there. That feeling, which gripped him for the few moments he was awake, that there was something he needed to do — something incredibly urgent that couldn't wait — was gone; the pain disappeared, as did the voices and the faces and the movements. But these periods, he sensed absently, were steadily becoming shorter, the periods of wakefulness slowly got longer…

Until, one day, he no longer passed out; now he slept.

And dreamt.

It was still hard, but he was starting to remember some things. James was prominent amongst them, a constant since the first time he had woken. He was a different James than the one he remembered, and yet the same. _His_ James was always loud and energetic, quick to laugh, quicker still to make him laugh. This one was simply too quiet, and his was one of the voices he'd learnt to cling to every time the blackness faded and made room for other things, things that made him panic when they popped up in his head, but James' voice helped him stay focused… when he could match a name to it.

Any other time, Sirius would have quickly felt frustrated at not knowing exactly what was going on with and around him; but that too, had changed. Part of him, the part that knew what was what and why and how, the part of him that feared something, that knew something terrible, the part that was hurting and very aware of things, this part was simply too far away from him; so he just watched and waited for it to come back.

And one day, it did.

A little, but it was enough to know he shouldn't be here — wherever that was; it was enough to know he _shouldn't_ be in human form, that he was in danger, and anyone dumb enough to be around him was in danger too.

James, though, had made that part of him shut up again, and somehow — bugger if he knew how exactly — he had managed to convince Sirius he was safe. That things were okay, that he should lie still and just… rest.

"Hey, Padfoot… No, wait— don't go dog. It's alright, you're safe here. Safe, see? There's nothing out there to hurt you, I promise—"

_Or had he?_

Maybe, Sirius mused idly, it had just been a dream. There had been fireworks, a celebration of some sort. It just _didn't_ make sense. The memories of curses, of death and cold and pain, those seemed natural, those made sense to him; not this, whatever _this_ was.

 _Dream, probably_. He'd cling to it for as long as he could, he decided. It was a good one, it had the works — scents and warmth and everything. _Very realistic. Nice_.

He was in that dark, warm place once more, lying on a soft, warm surface and buried under a fluffy duvet that smelled of… Home. Of laughter and safety and good times; it smelled just like the linens of the Potter household, with a sharp undertone of antiseptic and potions he'd long come to associate with the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. He even fancied he could catch a whiff of Pomfrey's signature perfume at random.

Sirius didn't move or open his eyes, but sleep wouldn't come again. He just lay there and waited for his mind to engage, slowly becoming aware of a dull, throbbing ache all over his right leg, which spread to his side until his midriff felt like it was being pummelled by a troll. But the other things, the ones that reminded him of the places he loved, of people he cared about more than anything, didn't fade. Around him it was silent, except for faint, steady sounds of breathing nearby. He spent some time wondering idly who those sounds belonged to…

And then the images started flashing before his mind's eye.

Bellatrix was the first to pop up, her manic, cruel laugh ringing shrilly in his ears. Suddenly, he was in his old room at his mother's, and Bellatrix' dark eyes were replaced by piercing red, her laugh became a hiss — _"You are mine now, Sirius. And you will serve a purpose for the Dark Lord, whether you want it or not—"_ Sirius gave a start, heart hammering wildly in his chest.

This, he knew, was _real_.

Too real; he could feel the words in his chest, like a hand gripping him tightly. He could hear them ringing in his ears, and he felt cold spreading from deep inside him. His eyes snapped open in fright, as a jumble of memories suddenly poured forth, flashes of images that had been disconnected and far away until now piecing together a story that was as terrifying as the sensations it called forth. He tried to move away from them, eyes flying open and looking around for an escape route, certain he'd been dreaming, he still _was_ — any second now, the unfamiliar shadows of a cosy, homely room would fade away and turn into reality: a barn or some nook in a forest where he hid last.

The more his frantic mind thought of it, the more it made sense — he'd _imagined_ being in a bed at the Potters', because he craved for them.

He'd imagined everything: James, because he missed his best friend and longed for a friendly face to help him; Madam Pomfrey, because he needed a Healer; the Hospital Wing because it was the place where he always got help when he was ill. But it couldn't be real, none of it could — he'd just get James worse than killed if he sought him out…

Sirius made to sit up, alarm replacing his last thought process with a panicky sort of feeling that felt more befitting the situation than anything else: he was _human— gods_ he was _human_ , and being human meant more danger, more pain, more hurt. As if to confirm it, searing pain shot up his back the instant he moved. His right leg and chest were on fire, and the back of his head and neck felt like he'd been skewered—

" _Gah—_ " he gasped, trying to transform — he _had_ to, before the Death Eaters arrived. He needed his wand, he needed to leave this place right this instant —

But he _couldn't._

_Aaaah!_

Panic gripped him when fur didn't appear, when his hands failed to become paws at his frantic command. He didn't know where he was, the room _wasn't_ fading, he couldn't even feel the cold that had been a constant for so long… But he was more focused on looking for a way out, suddenly certain he'd been captured, any moment now Lucius or Bellatrix or his mother even, would appear out of the shadows and force him into doing the unthinkable, the unspeakable. This time, he wouldn't be able to fight it, he knew that as well. He would break, he'd go after James, turn him into something so horrifying his brain jammed at the thought.

"Sirius?"

 _No, no… not you_ , he pleaded in his mind, which was already hysterical, trying to piece together an explanation for this. His mouth had gone dry, why, _why_ was James talking to him when this was quite clearly some Death Eater's house, when he'd clearly been captured and was being tricked into doing things he'd regret for the rest of his — surely short and painful — life?

"Sirius, what's wrong?" James asked. He was coming closer, his messy hair standing in every direction as he stumbled out of bed and approached him. What the hell was he doing here? Didn't he know it was dangerous, for him especially? Sirius turned his head this way and that, trying to find a possible escape route, but he realised the next instant that even if he found one, he couldn't even move. He struggled with his covers, but his hands were not responding, choosing instead to clench much as his teeth were. Pain gripped him next, searing and sharp and constricting. He shouldn't have moved, gods what had they _done to him_?!

"What are you _doing_?" James was by his side, alarmed as he caught Sirius, who had managed to topple headfirst off the bed. Sirius muffled a cry as James' hand supported the back of his neck, but he couldn't hold himself upright, or move away like he wanted to. He was shaking all over, with pain and fear, gasping for breaths that wouldn't fill his lungs—

"Sirius, it's alright — _it's me_ ," James was saying, becoming frantic as well. "Don't you know me? Look at me, it's _James_. Oi. Look at me. _Now_."

Almost despite himself, Sirius did. It _was_ James.

" _No_ ," Sirius moaned. He'd _failed_ — he'd been imperio'd or something and had lured James into a trap, he'd done exactly the one thing he had vowed never to do— Voldemort would do the most terrible of things—

"It's alright, there's no danger here. We've been over this before, when are you going to believe me? Whoa, you're getting heavy…" James struggled a bit but in the end, he managed to readjust him on the bed. Sirius gritted his teeth, but for all that he struggled to get up, he couldn't but slump back against the pillows he'd been lying on before. "There are no Death Eaters here. You're at my house, you've been here for _ages_. And, Padfoot— no, _listen_. I solemnly swear it's safe here. We're both safe… It's all right." Sirius stared into James' eyes, panting without quite getting a breath in.

"Wha? _No_ ," he managed. This was indeed James, but… "There's… there's… the… the…"

"There's no Death Eaters," James repeated very clearly, looking straight into Sirius' eyes. "There's no danger. You _are safe_ , believe me."

"No… No Death Eaters?" Sirius echoed in disbelief. How was this even _possible_? He wondered, even though a tiny part of him was telling him this wasn't the first time this conversation, if it could even be termed that, had happened.

"None," James confirmed, taking a deep breath even as Sirius stared at him. He sat down next to him on the bed, heating up some tea with a wave of his hand and pouring a cup. "You're at my house, and I _promise_ you, the most dangerous thing here is that pile of laundry in the corner. " Sirius' eyes wandered from James' to the heap of clothes spilling out of the basket. "Honest, it's terrible. Have some of this, it'll help you sleep."

Sirius sipped the warm, honeyed tea, and gradually, the same sort of detached haze from before started creeping up on him. He couldn't believe where he was, but James was there, he was _real_ , and he carried on talking, about shirts tripping him up and socks smelling so bad it should be made illegal, but it was to Sirius as if his voice came from very far away. When Mrs. P. came in, looking dishevelled and smelling of sleep as she adjusted a bathrobe over her nightgown, Sirius was half drifting off again.

His eyes snapped open with a jolt.

"Oh _Mum…_ I _nearly_ had him," James groaned. "He was _this_ close to going back to sleep…"

"Go to bed James, you look dead on your feet," she said softly, ruffling James' hair and taking the cup from him. Sirius followed everything in silence, taking in their scents, their voices, the worn-out expressions… "You'll be more useful if you watch him in the morning… I need to go buy more herbs early, before you go to school."

"But I don't want to go to school, it starts _tomorrow_ ," James protested, but he was already shuffling back to his bed. Betty Potter smiled, shaking her head in defeat. "I'm too tired to go, for one." Which wasn't a lie, "plus, the catering's terrible, and all that _homework…_ " There was no doubt now, this _was_ James. He hadn't been lying. Sirius still had no clue what had happened to get him here, and even the part of him that knew he'd been told — several times too— had forgotten.

"What do you think, Sirius? Should James go back to school, hm?" Mrs. P. asked him, gently checking his bandages over and caressing his fringe. Sirius just blinked at her, as though he were seeing her for the first time. It wasn't until then that he truly believed where he was, that he was indeed at the Potters', that there were no Death Eaters anywhere near. It was a huge weight off his chest, even if this was the place he'd avoided the most, it was also where he'd craved to be with all his heart.

"He… he needs to com…complete his education, Mrs. P." It was little more than a whisper, but it surprised both James and his Mum. She smiled more brightly, offering him more tea. It was sweet and smelled of flowers of some sort, and it made him very sleepy.

"Indeed. Listen to Sirius, James. He's talking sense."

"That would be a first," James retorted, but he was laughing. Sirius watched him in silence, being vaguely reminded of that other James… The loud one. "That proves he hit his head. _Hard_. He'd never make me go to school otherwise."

"I'm not… making you," Sirius slurred out. Already he was close to dozing. "Your Mum is." This made both Potters laugh.

"Oh, but I have missed you," Betty told Sirius fondly, winking at James, who grinned. He was out of it in the space of a breath, and Betty moved to her son's bedside. "He's getting better," she told him, tucking him in and casting a warming charm on his covers.

"I really don't want to go to school, Mum." James had lost his cheery exterior. So did Betty.

"But Dumbledore said—"

"I know what he said," James replied miserably. "I just don't want to go without being damn sure he'll pull through."

"Mind your tongue, James Potter." The tone was soft, not even chiding.

"Sorry."

"I don't think it's unwarranted if you miss a few days," came next, gently. She ran her fingers through James' untidy mop of hair. "We are all tired enough to sleep a week, aren't we?" James nodded.

Since Boxing Day, it had been very hectic, what with Dumbledore coming over and Pomfrey running them to early graves with her gazillion healing instructions, and then watching Sirius day and night like hawks… not to mention, the two Death Eater attacks they'd barely managed to repel with the aid of the entire village. Gods, the list was endless. Not that the holidays had been relaxing before then, either.

Right now, going to school was the last item on James' agenda.

"We'll talk to Dumbledore in the morning, I'm sure we can cook up a suitable excuse for you starting late; but he'll need much longer than a week, son… and you can't be here all the time."

James looked away. He was well aware of what his mother meant; Dumbledore had come over on Boxing Day, the very evening James had brought Sirius in, and helped James' dad with the spells to permanently obliterate the Tristram Trace, and Madam Pomfrey — James would have to remind Sirius to stop calling her Poops, wouldn't he? — had been smuggled over too. She had literally saved Sirius' life.

In the meantime, Dumbledore had laid plans for the foreseeable future with them all, and foremost amongst them was to act like Sirius had really died; that way the Dark Side would really believe that he'd drowned in the North Sea. Just in case, they had sent another figure like Sirius flying off into the wilderness during a Death Eater attack, so the villagers also thought Sirius dead; the figure had been blown to smithereens by a spell within minutes.

James was crucial to the plan, since he would be the only one out in public; his parents had retired from work years ago, and aside from their social calls they were seldom seen by large crowds. James, though, was already a personality at Hogwarts, as was Sirius; it was him everyone would be looking at and talking about. So, him being worn out and tired would actually help their ploy along, he could claim he hadn't slept because he was mourning. But he _would_ have to go to school, and he hated the arrangement, but his parents supported it. He was safe from Death Eaters and Voldemort at Hogwarts, they all knew that; and when Sirius was better — Poops—er, Pomfrey— had said he _might_ not be able to return before _February_ of all things— they'd claim he'd been hiding out and then act all surprised like at his sudden reappearance. Or something, James had been seething over having to leave and hadn't paid attention to the last part of the plotting.

Worst of all was where he'd have to _lie_ to Moony and Wormtail.

He had shut off his grate due to the attacks, he'd asked them not to write anymore, but he wouldn't be able to hide from them at school. He'd have to pretend Sirius was dead, act the part of the devastated best friend, and worry himself to pieces from a distance. He hated it, all of it. No, he wasn't in a hurry to pack his trunk in the morning. Much less with Sirius like this; he'd been out of it for days and only woke up for the first time right before New Year's. Since, he'd been in and out of it, and the panic attacks like tonight's were a constant whenever he woke; James had so far been the only one who managed to get him out of those when they happened. What would happen if he was miles away in bloody _potions class_ and Sirius woke up in a state?

"Just… just until we really know, Mum. _Please_."

She smiled and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

"I'll do my best, James. Now you need to sleep too."

.

* * *

.

A muffled whimper woke him up a few days later. The smallest noise would do that lately, and James idly wondered when he had become so… motherly.

When he opened his eyes, he bit back a groan; it was not even daybreak yet. He then wondered when he'd get a full night's sleep again — the answer came instantly, as he had only a couple more days at home before being sent back to school, without a hope to wheedle for more time — but then remembered that Sirius probably needed help and dismissed all thoughts of sleep.

Why Sirius chose these _ungodly_ times to wake up was beyond James, but it was a nightly occurrence now. He had been here for over a week, and not once had he been awake during the daytime since he started being marginally more lucid. He groped for his glasses, but as he squinted over to the far end of the large room, it was to see someone had already beaten him to it. He saw his Mum over by Sirius' bedside, caressing Sirius' head and whispering something into his ear. Sirius was curled up against her, his head resting on her shoulder, and James didn't need their link to know what had woken him up.

_A nightmare again._

He was certain of it. Sirius had been getting better lately, and he was less confused and panicked when he woke up, even if it still was only for short periods of time. But as his awareness grew, the nightmares had started. Even Pomfrey had warned them this would happen, things like what he'd been through just weren't shaken off so easily and they'd catch up with him eventually.

"It could happen in a week, or a month, or a year — but it _will_ happen, and you lot need to be there for him when it does," she'd told them, even if the Potters didn't need the forewarning, or to be told to be around. Of course they would. Just like his Mum was right now.

James buried himself under his covers once more. He was glad that Sirius was awake, because he'd feared for the first few days he wouldn't wake up at all, and he was glad that his Mum was there to help. Most of all, though, he was glad to be able to share the best of his family with him. And it was sorely needed… Sirius simply was unused to touch or gentleness of any kind, he'd always been a bit of an oddball in that regard… But he was learning differently now, and the way James saw it, it was high time he did.

He carried on watching the goings-on in the far end of his — their — room, until he realised Sirius was looking at him. He looked like he'd been crying, and he was staring ahead now, completely exhausted while James' Mum held him close. James couldn't be sure whether or not Sirius could actually _see_ him, but it didn't matter either way. After so many years of sharing so many experiences, of literally being a part of each other, there was nothing to warrant embarrassment here, and James understood better than anyone what was going on in Sirius' head.

He'd asked him to stop blocking him out, and after much arguing, he had gotten his way. Sirius acknowledged defeat — though James reckoned it was only because he'd been worn out by the argument — and stopped keeping James in the dark so much, even though he still put his block up at random here and there; he couldn't help it, and James understood.

But taking down the block meant opening a can of worms, and living through it hadn't been easy for James either, even if it was witnessed second-hand; he now understood full well why Sirius had blocked him out, what it was like, living amongst dark wizards, in a family of Death Eaters, when you were against everything they did and stood for... He knew now what sort of hell Sirius had been through whenever he wasn't around James, what he'd been through to keep him and his family safe.

Deep down, though, James was privy to something else as well, which more than made up for whatever nasty things that went on in Sirius' head. There was a strength he'd sensed a few times before, but not this constant, or burning so strong; feelings in turmoil due to the shock of the events, yes, but beyond that, there was caring, loyalty, love, and a fierce sense of determination to see this through, to never again be cowed like he had been. Yes, Sirius had been through a nightmare, and needed to come to terms with it — but he wasn't broken by it. There was hope there, which would surface again once he was better.

Certainly, it wouldn't happen without help, but that was James' speciality. If there was anyone who could make Sirius laugh despite anything, it was him, and he was well aware of this power; but most of all, James was as determined, if not more, to help Sirius through this madness as Sirius was of getting out of it himself.

Even if looking at him right now, all but wrapped around James' Mum, it felt like it was impossible to get him out of it at all.

James carried on watching, and wondered if anyone had ever done this for Sirius before. Instantly he knew the answer to that, and he appreciated what his mum was doing all the more.

Eventually Sirius' eyes slid closed, still curled up against Betty, who did not move away. She too, could tell what James knew for a fact, and whispered soothingly in her surrogate son's ear. He might be sleeping, but part of him _was_ listening, and it was this part which they needed to make whole again as soon as possible.

.

* * *

.

That it wouldn't be easy was made evident the very next day.

James, who hadn't slept very well for days, didn't wake up until eleven in the morning.

When he finally did and had slapped his glasses on, it was only to find Sirius awake, staring at the wall opposite and out the window. He hadn't stirred, apparently, since last night... And it didn't look like he wanted to.

"Morning," said James sleepily, sitting up. Sirius gave a start, turning to look at him... but didn't answer.

Unless you could count blinking as an answer.

"How are you feeling?" James asked anyway, groping for his wand, shuffling out of bed, into a bathrobe and across the recently enlarged room.

Sirius still hadn't answered by the time James sat down on his bedside, his eyes following James' every movement in silence, as if he were having trouble recognising him at all. Sadly, this wasn't uncommon, but James was used to it, and knew that some gentle prodding did the trick. So he asked again, and now he was close enough that Sirius couldn't overlook who he was or disregard the question.

"Better."

James watched him mock-critically for a moment, then flashed him a smile.

"You're the worst ever liar, mate."

"You reckon?"

"No, I _know_ it. I'll get Mum here, maybe she can give you a hand or two. Dad was making you some potions, so... You'll _really_ feel better in a few." He left Sirius to get his mother a moment later, whom he found helping his Dad in the kitchen. They were trying to brew potions, he realised. There were several dangerous-looking concoctions already lined up on the kitchen table.

"Morning," he said cheerfully, peering at the smoking phials. "Blimey, do you want to give him _that_?" The potions smelled terrible, even worse with his sharp nose. He grimaced.

"Well, we haven't really made any of these restoratives in a long time," said Betty for a greeting. James peered into the cauldron, then at the recipe they were looking at...

"Looks complicated... and it says here it should be red, not blue. There's no way I'm letting you give him any of those. What would his epitaph say? 'Survived the Death Eaters only to succumb to Potter potions'. It's anticlimactic."

"Oh, yes, you're right son," said Coop, ruffling his hair and sighing in frustration.

"I wish I could just go to the apothecary and have them whip these up," Betty complained. "And we need them urgently now… He needs them for later, he's almost out of painkillers—"

"And _I_ wish we had a potions master in the family," Coop muttered, tossing the sheafs of parchment on the table before tossing out the cauldronful of — poison, quite likely— out the window.

"We _do_ have one, now I think of it," James answered, whipping out his wand and making a quick copy of the recipes his parents were fretting over.

"We do?"

"Pete," said James, already on his way back out. "There's not a potion he can't make, it's just about the only thing he's good at, aside from eating twice his weight at every meal and getting us caught at every turn."

"But—"

"Don't worry, I won't tell him who these are for, and he'll never even guess. Not the brightest spark in the wand, our Pete. Sadly." James interrupted his dad before the inevitable reminder. If Pete were but a little more trustworthy, he wouldn't have to keep him or Moony in the dark about this. They'd all be here, helping. As they bloody well _should_. Gah. "Be right back, oh and Mum? Sirius is awake, but all... well. You saw him last night."

"I'll be upstairs in a moment, honey. I'm fixing his lunch. I hope he can keep this one down…"

"Oh, just give him chocolate pudding, you know he can't resist it."

.

* * *

.

"How are you feeling?" Betty asked moments later, lowering a tray laden with food and potions on Sirius' bedside table. This time the reply came lots sooner than they were used to by now.

"Better, Mrs. P."

"You're the worst liar ever, sweetheart," James' mum said fondly. Behind her, James snorted.

 _Told you so,_ he told Sirius with a thought.

"Yeah, he is," he confirmed aloud, leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. "I sometimes wonder how Googles believes the tosh he feeds her. Maybe it's just that she's got a _thing_ for him," he said, laughing at Sirius' expression. Oh yes, he was starting to remember stuff. Although, truth be told, he'd never have dreamed he'd once have to remind Sirius who Googles even _was_.

"She does _not_ have a… a… a _thing_ for me." James smirked at the way Sirius managed to convey his disgust on the matter with just one grimace.

"Aye, she does, my dear friend. She _loooooves_ you."

"That's just…" Sirius trailed off, clearly racking his brains for a way to finish this sentence. James grinned insolently at him. "Just… grossly inappropriate."

"Doesn't make it any less true," he countered cheerfully, even as his mum laughed and spooned some soup into Sirius' mouth. She'd missed this every bit as much as James had. He idly wondered if she'd find it as funny later, when it would be non-stop banter again. If it ever happened.

"Shut up, James." Sirius sounded tired. Then again, he always sounded tired lately. James didn't let that stop him, they'd finally started getting past the 'Oh no! Death Eaters — There's no Death Eaters, you're safe' -type conversations, and he wanted to get Sirius off them for good before he left.

"It breaks my heart, it really does, when you say something like that," James said, "But it's true. Especially when I _know_ she only let you off with one loo duty that other day, and that was only because she couldn't watch you at it herself. You should've gotten like, triple that. Like me. At _least_." 'That other day' had been, in fact, a few days before the end of term. "We both know _you_ got into her catnip, not I. And we both know that she scented it, because cats are like that. _And_ ," he added happily, ignoring Sirius' utterly confused expression, "we _both_ know she loooooves you."

"She doesn't," Sirius replied, but it came automatically, after swallowing his soup. James knew Sirius was more caught up trying to remember which prank James had been talking about; and quite possibly, he had also forgotten all about school and everything that came with the package. But he would remember. He _had_ to, because this was his life, not the pit of hell he'd been raised in; and James also knew that to Sirius, the events that had only happened before the holidays could have happened in another lifetime, not just a couple of weeks back. He watched his Mum feed Sirius an entire bowl of soup in silence, and then he got some Pettigrew-quality potions, and _then_ his Mum was all over his bandages, taking them off for the customary wound-cleaning and changing, which James would have strongly protested but Sirius endured in the same silence he'd kept so far.

And finally…

"Wait a minute." It was so abrupt, even James' Mum stopped sponging at a particularly nasty cut on Sirius' side. They both looked up at him inquiringly. He frowned back at them, confused. "I didn't get into the catnip last time. You made that up… We did… Dumbledore's furniture, didn't we?"

_Score!_

"Maybe, but she still loves you." James' face would've split in two, if he'd been grinning any more widely. "Ah, if you were only a few years older… And more of a cat person…" he batted his eyes at Sirius, who snorted in defeat. It was more like a dry cough and turned into a wince halfway through, but this was the first time James had seen anything remotely resembling a laugh on his face. It was priceless.

"Shut up, James." And this was too.

.

* * *

.

The atmosphere in Godric's Hall had changed dramatically over the last few days, but as the first week of January drew to a close, the change was impossible to ignore. The Yule, Christmas, and New Year's had gone past without a real sign of life in the old manor, but now there was music downstairs again, and everyone was in a generally cheerful mood, even if all three Potters, their six house-elves, and even Madame Pomfrey were exhausted.

James dismissed it all with a nonchalant, "He's just high-maintenance, our Sirius. Siriusly," but out of them all, he spent the most time awake, and whenever Sirius was deeply asleep or getting a round of healing he wasn't allowed in the room for, he kept himself busy devising new ways to get Sirius back to his old ways.

He seemed to be trying to get Sirius on his feet before he left for Hogwarts, but the appointed day was looming closer and he couldn't overlook it. He had managed to wheedle one week from Dumbledore, but not a day longer. The old headmaster even went as far as to point out that he'd had a longer holiday than most other years, because New Year's had fallen on a Thursday. No amount of negotiating, threatening or pleading had managed to buy him time, much less after this morning's paper came in. James would have to start convincing people Sirius was dead, and pronto. He couldn't do that from home.

 _Bugger_.

It wasn't a lie when he claimed he was nervous about going back to Hogwarts. But worse still than having to face the entire school, worse even than facing Remus and Pete, was facing Sirius. He didn't know James was leaving soon, that he would leave the day after tomorrow, that there was no other way to keep him safe.

Now he wasn't afraid that Sirius would die anymore, James was frankly afraid to piss him off.

 _And this,_ he mused, _could easily do the trick_.

Sirius had made a dramatic sort of progress over the past handful of days; not only was he no longer at an immediate risk of death, but he had also finally managed to remember most of his escape, had implicitly accepted James' account of the bits he'd been too moribund to properly register of how he had gotten to the Potters' at all, he had even managed to recognise everyone on the first try since Wednesday, and the panic attacks upon waking were a thing of the past. Hopefully for good, but… James had no valid excuses — none that were valid for Dumbledore, at any rate — to stay beyond this weekend.

Moony and Wormtail made a point of calling over the Floo every day, and they were earnestly desolate. He was needed there as well, even though he couldn't tell the truth to them. It was ugly no matter which way he spun it, and as he read over the article for the fifth time early on Saturday morning, he realised he couldn't put it off any longer.

He sighed. This wasn't going to go down well.

"Are you telling him today?" Coop went straight to the point, nursing a cup of the strongest coffee in the Wizarding World. It barely hit the spot of late.

"It doesn't look as if I have another choice, Dad. He won't like it," James ruffled his hair. "He hates lying to anyone, and when he finds out it's over this…"

"He'll come to understand it's for his own safety."

"You've seen him, Dad. His safety means turnips to him. He'll drive himself batty wanting to put this right…"

"And listen to you in the end. He always does, and he will. They all will, and it's hard on everyone son, but…"

"I know. It's the only way."

"If we tell anyone he's alive, the Ministry will come for him. In the best of cases, they'll hold him in Azkaban." James shuddered at the thought. "He wouldn't survive it, much less after everything that's happened to him. In the worst of cases, he'll be handed over to Voldemort, and—"

"He certainly won't survive _that_. I know," James mumbled. "He'll still worry more about Remus and Pete."

"His mother hasn't said he's dead. The Ministry has witnesses that place Sirius at the time and place of death of that girl… people saw him bending over her body as she bled to death. They saw him destroy half the street. The MLE is looking for him actively… and they're getting that warrant, James. They searched Alfie's this morning. They will come here and search the house, and we need him to cooperate when they do… and you."

"I know." James whispered it, but it carried nonetheless. He stood up, cleared his throat, took the paper. "I just… I wish it were different."

"So do I, son. I am sorry."

He went upstairs right after, deciding that getting it over with was the best course of action. Like Sirius, he had trouble lying to anyone unless it meant getting a laugh out of it for a prank, and up until now, he'd managed to convince himself that Sirius wasn't well enough to hear any of what he had to say. But now Sirius was awake for longer, and even managed to sit up on his own without too great a struggle; ready or not, he had to hear this.

He _wasn't_ ready, James saw that the second he stepped into their shared room and caught Sirius staring out the window again. He had made a great progress, yes, but he was nowhere near healed, emotionally or physically. He'd go someplace nasty whenever he was left alone for longer than five minutes, and through their blood-bond James knew Sirius couldn't help it any more than he could help breathing; he was haunted by more than he let on, and if he'd told anyone, it hadn't been James.

Still, he showed Sirius the paper, where it was announced that he was wanted for murder, that a price had been set on his head, that he'd be taken to Azkaban the second he was arrested. Sirius didn't even bat an eyelid throughout. He read the article a few times over — James could see his eyes flying over the paper, and all but hear his thoughts — but he didn't comment on it, or seem surprised, or anything.

James managed to endure the silence for all of two minutes.

"What do you want to do?" he ventured, deciding that whatever the plans they'd laid, he'd do what nobody had done until now and actually _ask_ Sirius for his opinion before he sprung anything on him.

"Turn myself in. I'll go and tell them what happened," Sirius said simply. James, for all he had turned the matter over for days and days, hadn't expected anything like this.

"But the Death Eaters," he blurted, scandalised. "They all but run the Ministry!"

"Yeah. _Them_." Sirius lowered the paper. "They killed her. Rod did. It should've been me."

"What?"

"He missed me and hit her instead. And… and when she was… dying," Sirius had trouble getting that word out, he already sounded all choked up, and the mental imagery popping into James' mind was graphic if nothing else. He saw what Sirius had seen, felt what he'd felt, and his heart broke along with his. But, he reminded himself, the girl was dead and nothing anyone did could bring her back. Sirius, though, wasn't beyond help. Not yet, not if he went along with Dumbledore's plan. "She pulled me out of the way of another curse. She only died because she stopped to help me. She was _kind to me_ , James. She died for it... She saved my life, Prongs. What else am I supposed to do except tell them what really happened? I'm not running anymore, not from _them_."

That didn't mean he had to run _to_ them, did it?

"Not handing yourself over to the Death Eaters would be a fair start," James answered levelly, but all his composure started crumbling when Sirius looked up at him. This wasn't just a false accusation, not in his eyes. He might not have killed her, but he was blaming himself for her death. "We'll figure this out, I promise. But the MLE are coming here soon, and you can't go handing yourself over to them all willy-nilly. There's a plan," he went on, before Sirius could start arguing. "Dumbledore's, not mine," he clarified. Sirius' mouth, which he'd opened to counter whatever he'd said until now, snapped shut. James took a deep breath. "He… he's playing the death card. That… that you're dead, I mean. It will get the Ministry off your back until you're better."

" _What_?" Now it was Sirius' turn to be gob-smacked.

"We're — all of us, that is — we're putting it out there that you're dead. Listen— no, _really_ listen," James interrupted yet again. Sirius was scandalised, it was written all over his face. "I know you don't like this, I _know_ , believe me. I don't either... But Dumbledore is right, there's nothing doing unless you're well enough to face them again. There's… this arrest warrant to grab you, right. They'll stick you straight in _Azkaban_ , Padfoot. Worse, they'll likely give you to the Sod and pretend you died in prison— no, _listen_! I'm not letting you do that, even if there's a trial, you're not going now and you're most certainly not going without me. We'll do everything to help with this murder, I solemnly swear. But not until you're all right again."

"But…" Sirius had gone very pale at the mention of the Sod. "But I'm not dead, James. I'm not dead," he mumbled. James had the distinct impression that he believed everything would be much easier if he was.

"No, but you _will be_ unless we do this. And," James added fervently, "I'm not letting you die. You promised, remember? You're not dying before I am, and I don't plan on dying anytime soon. So, you'll have to do what I say. Because unless we do this, you're toast. Do you want to be toast _and_ get the Curse of the Eunuch on top of that for breaking an oath?" He left the statement hanging for all of three seconds, which he spent relishing Sirius' baffled expression. "See, I don't think you do, I really don't, so here's what's going to happen..."

Sirius had gone very quiet. He listened, though. He listened to the entire plan as James laid it out and didn't interrupt once, his eyes never leaving James'.

"… So, since the Ministry has already searched Alphard's and found nothing, they'll stop by here soon. Dad demanded a warrant, and the Wizengamot is giving them it soon. That's not too much of a problem, you'll be under my cloak and no spell they cast will show you're here. And that's why I have to go to Hogwarts, to… to let people see me and tell everyone how you got killed by Death Eaters after we gave you a broom and things to escape. Then when you're better, you'll go to Hogwarts, and Dumbledore will make sure you get a fair trial over the murder thing. He won't let anyone take you anywhere."

Sirius was still silent. He looked down and away from James, thinking everything over.

"But Remus and Pete…"

"Will hate _me_ for it, not you," James assured him. He gave the fact that it didn't bother him so much when it was for Sirius only passing notice. "And maybe, with luck, they'll understand. Maybe it'll take a little while, but… Pete can't keep a secret for sod-all squared. Not something like this, he'll blurt everything out to the first girl who comes crying to him over your death… There's no shortage of those, you know? Remus might do that too, he's too much too soft, especially when they cry. It's too risky."

"It's a lot of trouble," Sirius mumbled. "If anyone finds out I'm here, your parents will get it. And you. When I go back, that's what's going to happen. It's a lot of lies."

"You didn't kill anyone, Sirius. You wouldn't." James' tone was as certain and firm as Sirius' was unsteady. "And we'll clear your name, together. Just not right away. You'll get better, and you'll come to Hogwarts, and we'll put things to rights. Together."

In the end, Sirius wasn't mad at him.

He made it abundantly clear that he didn't like the arrangement, that he couldn't really bear the thought of lying to Remus and Pete and the world any more than James did. But worst of all was, when it finally sunk in that James was leaving to go to school, and that it meant that James wouldn't be around 24/7 any longer, the way Sirius' face fell made James want to scrap everything and stay regardless of what Dumbledore said or did. He'd implicitly known for ages how much he meant to Sirius, as Sirius meant loads to him as well… but he'd never really even stopped to think how much Sirius actually _needed_ him, especially now.

"I'll try to come and visit," he promised. "I solemnly swear; I might not manage every day, but. I'll keep in touch, all right? Just… just get better, will you? Focus on that and nothing else, and we'll take care of everything. You'll be all right, I promise." And though Sirius agreed to everything James said in the end, that last wasn't going to happen unless James did come around.

He didn't tell Sirius as much, but he didn't really know how to make that happen.

His Mum and Dad came in moments later — James was sure they'd been eavesdropping — and though they did their best to cheer them both up, their every attempt fell through. Sirius just looked more miserable the longer passed, and James was amazed at how contagious he could be, how miserable he could get. It felt like a miracle would be needed to turn his mood around.

"It doesn't look good, I know," Coop said, as they were all sitting on Sirius' bed. "But it's our best shot, and we'll take it. As a family."

"It's too dangerous. For you. It's too much trouble… it's too risky, and definitely not wor—"

"Sirius Black, don't you even dare start," Betty cut him off firmly. She was using her bossy tone, which ended any argument before it began. Sirius' voice died in his throat. "It's worth it to us. You're worth it, honey. To me, to all of us. You're family, and we love you. And you're daft if you think we'll let any of those goons have you for even one second. You belong with us, son. And here's where you'll stay."

It was a very uplifting little speech, and she had said everything James had tried to tell Sirius for ages. It made James' heart swell, and dispelled the misery Sirius was all but radiating all over the place. Sirius was staring at her like he didn't believe his ears. James expected him to be relieved, to smile, even.

He never expected Sirius to burst into tears.

.

* * *

.

"Do I _have_ to?" James sounded plaintive.

And he looked wretched.

It was heartbreaking, if only because he had never once done this before. Other kids did this before their first year, only to itch to go back to school for the rest of their education; and the loving parents were doomed to miss their kids for most of the year for the duration of the said education. However, this kid was 16 years old, which amused Betty Potter to no end. In secret, of course; it wouldn't do to have him sense she'd rather keep him at home for another week, he'd never relent otherwise. Outwardly, she and her husband looked harassed and close to losing their patience.

"You know you do, son. We've been over this already." Coop Potter said in a long-suffering tone.

"Several times, too," Betty Potter remarked to that last.

"I've already missed the start of term, why can't I miss an extra week?" James asked, but allowed himself to be ushered towards the grate. His father went first, to test that the grate was safe. The Potter front room was filled with a momentary flash of green as Coop disappeared. James turned to his mother, giving her his own rendition of the Pleading Puppy Padfoot Stare (TM). Betty thought he looked rather constipated. " _Mum_?"

"You know why, now go on ahead. I want to be back before Sirius wakes up. You know how he gets when he's left alone for too long, so get cracking, oh son of mine."

"Trying to get rid of me, are you?" James tried, and failed, to sound reproachful. Betty Potter laughed good-naturedly, and levitated his trunk into the fireplace. "Sometimes I feel like you love him more."

"What's to say I don't?" she asked mischievously. "He behaves better, at any rate."

"He's _half dead_ , Mum! The only thing that behaves better than him right now is a _flobberworm_. Just you wait until he's on his feet, and then you'll love _me_ more again." Betty laughed once more. "No, really. He's a terror." James grinned, but Betty was hard to sway.

"Oh, I don't know. He's so nice and quiet…"

" _Broodish_ ," James corrected. "That's hardly better, that's just depressing. And we're trying to get him off that kick, so don't you encourage him."

"He's always so polite, too…"

"He's under the weather. That will correct itself as soon as his head injury is healed; don't get too used to it."

"He doesn't leave messes behind wherever he goes."

"He can hardly sit up, what sort of mess _could_ he make?" James frowned at her, rather confused himself. Could his Mum be, well, serious?

"He hugs me more than you…"

"When he's got nightmares… And I do hug you, whenever you're not hugging _him_."

"He eats everything I cook…" Betty went on, undeterred. James frowned again. If this was about the sprouts incident three days ago…

"Half starved." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"He never complains about the food, either." Betty gave him her most winning smile.

"Ditto."

"His hair is tidier…"

"All right, that's quite enough. _Don't_ mess with the do."

"Get in there, then. I seriously need to be back before he wakes up."

" _Seriously_?" James grinned.

"Get on with it!" Betty laughed too as she shoved her son into the fire and tossed in a handful of Floo Powder.

"Hogwarts!" James shouted, and was gone with a _whoosh_. However, his playful mood was gone the instant the world stopped spinning and he found himself in Dumbledore's office.

"Finally," his dad said. "There I was, thinking I'd have to go back to get you."

"I can go back if you still want to give that a try," James answered, but his heart felt uncharacteristically heavy. He didn't want to be here; he'd made that abundantly clear. And even if he knew Sirius was asleep and impersonating a flobberworm, he already missed him. He felt worried, and when his dad wrapped a supportive arm around his shoulders, he realised it was showing on his face.

"What you'll be doing here is more important right now," Dumbledore told him gravely. James hadn't even noticed the old Headmaster standing there by his desk. He swallowed, and nodded in defeat.

"Yeah. I have to lie to all our friends…"

"And all your — _his_ — enemies. I should think that is more important."

"Yes, I _know_ … I just don't like it. He doesn't either, by the way. I asked."

"Did he prefer the alternative?" Dumbledore asked back. James shrugged. No, Sirius didn't like the idea of getting hunted down by Dementors, but he didn't like faking his death, even if it was everyone in this room who would do that. James shook his head.

"He liked it about as much as he likes this one, sir. He wanted to go to the Ministry and clear things up himself. I had to talk him out of that too." And now, he was here, miles and miles away from Sirius, having to play a part he hated. Why couldn't he just stay at home, where he belonged?

"I know you want to be around him as much as you can," Dumbledore went on, sitting behind his desk and steepling his long fingers under his equally long nose. James knew his tendency to read your mind with a look, so he didn't even pretend Dumbeldore was wrong. "And I have already heard how much you've helped Sirius heal from Madam Pomfrey…" James vowed _never_ to call her Poopy Pomfrey again. "I have also heard — and witnessed first-hand — how much Sirius needs you around, especially now."

 _Yeah, thanks for reminding me._ James looked down. He hadn't even left the Head office yet, and already this was harder than he'd thought. Could they really force him to stay? If he, say, snatched the Floo Powder and went home?

"Your father told me as much as well. So we were thinking, a certain... arrangement can be made."

"Choo mean, arrangement?" James' knotted up throat cleared almost instantly. Did he dare hope? He decided that he did; but… hope for _what_ , exactly? He wasn't sure what the Headmaster was on about at all. Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Sir?"

"Here's what you will do…"

* * *

TBC


	7. The Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this Chapter: Finally, James becomes deranged, Snape gets his tentacles, Dumbledore smuggles fireworks, and McGonagall gets a twitch. Walburga gets a cameo, too. And Voldemort muses about power, history… important things, like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Refer to Ch. 1. Not mine, but mine in a way. And yours. So, an argument can be made for… Ours, maybe?

* * *

**Part Seven: The Lie**

* * *

.

The arrangement Dumbledore had proposed was something James couldn't deny was brilliant. It certainly took the edge off of lying to people.

_Most_ people anyway.

Remus and Peter had been waiting for him in their shared dormitory when he arrived that Monday, and just one look at them brought James closer to a breakdown than any of the events so far had managed. Their eyes were sunken in and red, and they were unusually quiet and solemn. Pete seemed to have lost a handful of pounds, and Remus looked even worse than he had after a particularly nasty full moon.

James didn't know what to tell them.

Part of him, the part that desperately wanted to make everything better for his best friends, his brothers, was very close to blurting everything out to them. However, he'd promised himself he wouldn't.

_For Sirius_.

For the very person they were mourning, so they wouldn't have to do it for real.

James couldn't forget — and he _wouldn't_ , not ever — what Sirius had gone through; he knew more than anyone, and yet, he was well aware that he didn't know _everything,_ but he knew more than anyone in the world aside from Sirius himself what had happened, he knew why it had happened, and he had made himself remember every last detail Sirius gave, remembered or let slip through their shared link.

Sirius was in the state he was, because he had been protecting James and his parents. And James would not forget the lengths the Dark Side had gone trying to break him to do their will.

Because it was all depressing, and because he couldn't fake his emotions, this, too, tied in with Dumbledore's plan. Everything he'd clamped down on since Sirius went missing, he could let out here. People would think he was devastated over what had happened to Sirius.

And they'd be _right_.

Only, they'd think it was over his death, when in reality it was over everything _but_ that last. His death, he was still terrified of. So much could go wrong, so much already had, that he just couldn't make himself trust Dumbledore's plans blindly.

And yet, he followed them to a tee.

He stood in the doorway, aware that he, too, looked every bit as torn up over the matter as they did; and he still tried to come up with something to say to Remus. To chubby little Peter, who'd brewed potions like mad for days, without even stopping to wonder why James needed them at all. He hadn't explained, and Pete hadn't asked (although if he ever did, the story James was supposed to tell had to do with the Battle of Boxing Day).

In the end, he didn't have to say anything at all. Remus stepped up to him, and drew him gruffly into a one-armed hug that nearly broke his resolve not to tell them anything. And then Peter joined in.

"I'm _sorry_." James mumbled miserably, barely audible over Pete's sobbing. He was apologising for what he had to let them endure until Sirius came back and they cleared things up.

They, of course, understood something else entirely.

Remus hauled James' trunk to his bed, which had been next to Sirius' for as long as he'd slept here. He'd never seen it with the curtains drawn, or indeed so tidy. Sirius always managed to make a mess of his private corner of the world within seconds of his arrival. Not unlike a dog, they had joked; by now, he'd have everything upside-down, clothes and Quidditch paraphernalia and assorted pranks lying around everywhere, up to the very spot where his corner ended and Remus' began. There'd be this sharp end to the Sirius Mess in a straight line, and Remus' pristine private world would begin. It was like he was marking his territory, James had often said.

"His mother is coming in the morning," Remus said at last, when James was sitting on his own bed, unpacking his things in silence. "I overheard McGonagall telling the teachers earlier."

James' eyes wandered to Sirius' trunk at the foot of his bed, and then to Remus'.

"If there's anything you want from there, maybe you should get it out before she arrives."

.

* * *

.

It was harder than he'd thought.

Not just because it was ugly, going through Sirius' things without him there, but because the spells on the thing were much more refined than James could ever have given him credit for. It was a mood-lightener, however. Particularly after the lid blew up in their faces, only to reassemble itself at once.

Despite themselves, the three Marauders laughed.

"Should've known," Remus muttered, over two hours later, picking his debris-covered self off the floor. "Should've known about that one, sorry."

"You should've known about the last ten, you mean," Peter corrected. "If I have to put myself out _one_ more time…"

"You won't have to, not again," James said confidently. "I'm telling you, eleventh time's the charm…"

_BANG_.

"Okay, make that _twelve_. Twelfth time's the charm. Put yourself out, there's a lad."

* * *

"Okay, but it was worth it," James told a very battered Remus and Peter an hour later. They were all dishevelled, covered in goo of various different colours, and James was confident the hair on the left side of Pete's head would grow back soon. He was just as sure that the tartan pattern in green and bright pink would wash off his skin in the morning, and he was definitely certain his eyebrows would grow back when he showered later…

He wasn't too sure about Remus, though. He was _skunked_ , plain and simple. And he seemed to refuse to go cover himself in tomato sauce before the trunk was explored. So James had done the only sensible thing; he'd put a bubble charm around him, so he'd not stink everything up. Remus wore a look that said quite plainly, 'If he weren't dead already, I'd kill him on the spot.'

Best of all was the plushie, though. It was a little poodle that had probably belonged to some girl Sirius had to nick it from on a dare, because it was stuffed full of girls' knickers, which James recognised as the results of Dare Week, 1973. And it fired them out, with impressive accuracy. _And_ when they hit, they exploded in a blast of goo. Colourful goo. Goo that sang off-key and very loudly about how private property shouldn't be touched or something. Ironic didn't cover it, and even Remus le pew had to laugh at it.

At last, though, they managed to open it…

" _This_ is supposed to be worth the trouble?" Pete asked incredulously. Remus too, had clearly expected something else as well, because he rifled through the contents and sighed in disappointment. James merely shrugged, holding Sirius' red squeaky ball in one hand, his two-way mirror and pocket knife in the other. There was very little else in there that he thought Sirius would want to keep from his mother's clutches. Maybe his Beater's bat, and his lucky knickers, which were arguably the only clean piece of clothing in there.

"That was Padfoot for you," Remus said, shaking his head sadly. James bristled at the tense he chose to use, even if it was the right one… for now. "There's nothing in there except for his dirty laundry."

"You can keep his boxers," James suggested wryly.

"No, I've got enough of his smelly keepsakes. I'm going to get a shower."

"Me as well," Pete chimed in, and moments later James was left alone, in a room that looked like the Unabomber had gotten at it, frowning at the contents of Sirius' trunk.

This couldn't _be it_ , could it?

Surely the dirty socks and underwear were just the nasal deterrent. He shoved everything aside, wondering where if not here, Sirius stashed his most prized possessions. He didn't take anything important home, except for his wand, as a rule. Where was the Muggle guitar he loved to play — he'd even been getting decent on it at last— or his motorbike magazines? Where were the pranks and candy they'd gotten from Hogsmeade — though James hoped the candy wasn't stashed in his dirty boxers — and where were the other things he owned?

Because he _did_ own other things, right?

_Right_?

There was nothing there, though. None of James' spells worked at all, there was no fake bottom, _nothing_. Just some old scrolls and things, half-finished essays and broken quills. And something James couldn't even place afterwards; all he knew was that it bit.

He closed the trunk with a sigh, replacing every last spell he'd taken down, and adding a couple more for Sirius' mother's sake. And then, if only to dispel the nervous energy that was taking a hold of him, he cleaned up every last inch of the room. When he was done, not even the Prewett twins would be able to tell what had gone on here. Or even Perfect Prefect Frank when he did his dormitory rounds.

It was mid-morning when James had arrived, and Remus explained later that he and Peter had been excused from class by Googles to see James when he arrived — "She'll let us off easy every time," Pete commented mournfully, "She didn't even take points for my homework, and it _sucked_." — so it wasn't until later that he had to face the crowds in the Great Hall.

Pretending that Sirius was dead, now he came to think of it, wasn't all that hard. The Gryffindor House banners had all been fitted with a black stripe, and the candles didn't seem to illuminate the scene in glowing warm light. Girls - who'd have thought there were so many? - fairly threw themselves at him, some sobbing on his shoulder, others quietly crying, but all were red-eyed and subdued.

Except for the Slytherins. _They_ were celebrating.

And everyone, without an exception this time, wanted to know what had happened the night Sirius died. James, who would have regaled them with a grand tale any other time, just shook his head and didn't comment.

Dumbledore gave everyone a speech over dinner, telling them what they had decided was the official story; it went more or less hand-in-hand with what had really happened, Dumbledore especially stressed that Sirius had escaped the Death Eaters to protect the Potters, at which point everyone looked at him, but diverged there at the end: Sirius, Dumbledore said, had managed to reach Godric's Hollow, and James' family had given him the means to escape on a broomstick, on the day of the famed Battle of Boxing Day.

As they all stood for the toast, not one eye was dry, except at the Slytherin table; but then, Sirius had waged a personal war against that House since anyone could remember. There was no love lost there at all.

That night, he, Remus and Peter went up to the Astronomy tower for a small memorial of their own. Sirius had loved jumping off the tower with a broomstick, or into the lake without one, but that wasn't the reason they had chosen to go there. Overhead, the Dog Star could be seen, shining in the sky.

James remained quiet and his friends did the same, each reminiscing on their lost brother as they stared up into the night.

Words had often been unnecessary among them, after all, and this was one such time.

.

* * *

.

The very next day, not a handful of minutes after the three Marauders had gotten ready for class, Sirius' mum showed up at Hogwarts to pick up his things, which she had an elf destroy right in front of her loathed son's best friends.

The Marauders stood in silence, watching the sneering witch's expression change to one of confusion as the elf failed to destroy the trunk, and decided to undertake it herself.

The spells on the trunk, which exploded in Walburga's sneering face, were only mildly vindicating.

Sirius' bed was removed from the boys' bedroom while they were attending class, leaving a gaping hole behind that was impossible to overlook, and McGonagall called James over to her office during lunch, to give him Sirius' wand, which his mother hadn't been able to break and discarded in a rubbish pile.

"I thought you might want to keep it," she told him, sniffling a little, and even if he knew Sirius was alive and being looked after by his own parents, for a moment, James realised what it would be like, if he died in earnest.

Everywhere he went, whispers followed him.

Hushed snatches of conversation made it to his ears, and while the first couple of days students focused on Sirius' tragic death, and how sad it was - which James couldn't but agree wholeheartedly with - after a while he started to hear a few new words whispered about his best friend.

_Murderer_ , was one. _Death Eater_ , another.

It made the three Marauders see red.

James was sure the Slytherins had a hand in that, spreading rumours and gossip about how Sirius had killed that Muggle girl, and how he wasn't really dead but in the service of (or captured by) Voldemort. There were many theories and wild stories, but by the time Wednesday rolled by, none of the tales flying about the halls of Hogwarts even assumed that Sirius was anything but guilty of murder.

Snape was particularly vocal in his opinions, telling all manner of stories about Sirius and his fate, which grew increasingly outrageous as his circle of listeners increased. James was forcibly refraining from hexing him into the following week, and Snape, who was nothing if not aware of that fact, only grew _louder_.

So loud in fact, that his voice carried all the way to the Gryffindor table during dinner on Thursday.

"Everyone knows _who_ the Blacks side with," he said with a sneer. "What makes you think he was, or is any different? He was seen covered in blood from that muggle, and 'course he ran, because he's nothing but a dirty murderer and he was caught red-handed."

James had heard that sort of thing before. What really got to him, as he explained to an irate McGonagall later that night, was that people who had known Sirius for years, members of his House even, were muttering and nodding their agreement.

Snape went on, "I'm sure he holed up with the Lestranges, they're well known to be like that too. Or maybe he _killed_ James Potter and polyjuiced _into_ him." He shrugged, grinning nastily. "I'd watch my back if I were y—."

In hindsight, James thought his reaction to that had been positively mild. Muggle duelling might lack the flashy traits of a wizarding duel, but it was indescribably _liberating_. Snivellus had even gotten a couple of good punches in, before Prefect Remus pulled James off of him. James silently thanked him for having taken his time to break up the fight, but McGonagall hadn't seen eye to eye with him as she led both James and the snivelling git to get looked at by the nurse and yelled at some more.

James didn't listen, even later he remembered only that the ice pack on his fat lip had felt heavenly.

What he did register though, was when Dumbledore entered the Hospital Wing, gave Snape's rearranged face a cursory once-over, and pulled James to his feet by the arm.

"I'll deal with him, Minerva. Follow me, Mr. Potter."

James obeyed in silence, hurrying after the Headmaster. He might look old, but the bloke certainly walked _fast_.

They seemed to be going nowhere in particular; Dumbledore changed direction every so often, so even James was confused as to where they were going after a few moments. It wasn't until they turned a corner, which was presently devoid of students and faculty alike, that Dumbledore spoke.

"I recall that you were to hold out for the first week."

"Sorry sir. I just couldn't help myself. If you'd heard the _things_ he was saying—"

"But I did. We all did, and were in the process of dealing with it as well. And James, appalling as Mr. Snape's words were, I fear we will hear much worse before this matter is resolved."

" _Worse_? He was basically calling Sirius a Death Eater!" James exclaimed in outrage. "I couldn't just let that slide!"

"I noticed. But maybe it would have been wiser to hold off. Or at least, refrain from muggle duelling in front of everyone. This way."

James followed, scowling, into a side chamber that looked like it had just materialised on the corridor. Fuming as he still was, James hadn't been paying attention where they were going at all.

Dumbledore clamped a hand on James' shoulder and surveyed him gravely.

"I know we have an agreement, but it does not include harming your fellow students like you did. Remember what is at stake here, he depends on you for safety, as do your parents and Poppy. If you act mindlessly like this in the future, or cannot control yourself, our agreement shall be void."

"Yes, sir. Sorry… sir." James hung his head, shuffling along towards the far end of the chamber, and was earnestly surprised as Dumbledore led him to an enormous grate and threw a fistful of Floo Powder in once they were both inside.

"Godric's Hall!"

James stumbled out of his father's study moments later, absently dusting himself off as he went. He couldn't believe his sheer luck.

"James? Albus?" Coop Potter seemed earnestly surprised to see them both. "We weren't expecting you until next week — what happened to you?" He asked next, instantly concerned. He had spotted the state of James' face.

"Uh, well you see—"

"I'll explain everything, an unforeseen opportunity presented itself," the headmaster said, and only then did James notice the grimly amused twinkle in his eyes. "You have one hour, James. Make good use of it."

He didn't need telling twice.

Sirius looked almost exactly as he had a few days prior when James had left for school, which was disheartening. He was still pale and gaunt and all around ill-looking, and seemed to be sleeping. He did however, open his eyes as soon as James pulled his chair closer to his bed, and recognised him at once, which was a welcome change.

"Your Mum said you couldn't come until next Tuesday," he said hoarsely, shifting in his bed to try and sit up. James hurried to help him.

"Yeah, but something came up. Of course, if you'd rather, I can go and come back on Tuesday."

" _No_!" Sirius exclaimed at once, alarmed. "Stay."

"I was taking the piss," James replied with a grin. "Actually, I'm as surprised as you are, I didn't think Dumbledore would bring me here today."

"How come?" Sirius asked, and then, "What happened to your face?"

"We were at dinner, right…"

.

* * *

.

That night, James slept better than he had in days, and he had trouble acting the part of the bereaved best mate. Sure, Remus and Peter were still as sad as before, and that helped sober him up quite a bit, but James finally had reason to hope and that was harder to hide.

Over the next few days, a routine of sorts developed, where James made sure that he'd get to see Sirius for at least a few minutes every day. He had remained mindful of Dumbledore's warnings, carefully toed the line the headmaster had drawn for him, and even managed to throw comebacks rather than punches whenever he overheard conversations that made Sirius out to be in league with Voldemort.

However, he had vowed to himself he'd make this avalanche of slander against Sirius disappear, and his first order of business was payback on each and every witch or wizard who needed their perceptions righted.

Dumbledore had made it abundantly clear that inflicting any lasting damage on anyone was strictly forbidden, or else. James did not forget the threat, nor did he ever even step out of the line the headmaster had set.

He went around it, in the very creative idiom of the founder of the Marauders, driving anyone and everyone to the brink of insanity over the following week. And, until Sirius returned, James was determined to continue, no matter what.

" _Mister Potter!_ Was _that_ really necessary?" Poor McGonagall seemed to be reaching the end of her ball of string.

James smiled brightly at her, still out of breath from his latest duel, which wasn't even unprovoked this time. Snivellus had been calling someone a Mudblood, and James had been only too happy to retaliate. Who Snivellus had been bullying, he neither knew nor cared.

"Oh, _yes it was_ ," he said vehemently. How very _necessary_ it was, James couldn't get out of his head.

Her right eye twitched.

"I'd expel you for that," she announced in clipped tones, "but the Headmaster has asked to deal with you personally - so off with you, and you better wipe that smug look off your face. That's a hundred points from Gryffindor."

"A hundred? That's _unfair_."

"I'll tell you what's unfair, Potter. Unfair is losing your House a round hundred points so foolishly."

"I thought it was pretty clever, myself." James surveyed his handiwork with more than the usual dose of satisfaction. McGonagall's eyelid jumped again.

"With that mastery of magic, you should be _earning_ those," she countered angrily. James knew she'd love to word things differently, but she was a lion too, and Remus had overheard her ranting about the ridiculousness of the accusations levelled against Sirius, who wasn't even alive to disprove them. He knew, Googles was mourning as well, after her own fashion, and he felt intensely sorry for making her life more difficult.

"I do not care what caused you to do this, but rest assured that it's not going to make your life any easier, Mr. Potter. Now get cracking, you know the way to the Headmaster's office. Mr. Snape, kindly stop your whingeing, it's not like you're dying and Potter's assault was _not_ unprovoked, don't lie to me. Now, pick up your tentacles and go see the Nurse. I shall have a Prefect send you your homework, and you can see Professor Slughorn about your punishment once Poppy releases you…"

"You've outdone yourself this time, James," said Dumbledore a few moments later, shaking his head. "And there I was thinking it was Mr. Black who enticed you to the worst trouble. I am starting to believe it's the other way round. When I said you could get in trouble I meant harmless pranks, not this entirely undeserved act of rage."

"Well Sir, it wasn't _entirely_ undeserved. Not…entirely." James replied, helping himself to a handful of lemon drops. "And it was an act of Transfiguration, not one of rage."

"I see." Dumbledore steepled his fingers, surveying James gravely. "I ought to let you sit out your detention, and not go see him today."

"What?" James nearly choked on a piece of candy, alarmed. Had it really been so bad? He decided that it hadn't. "But sir! You said-"

"I know what I said," answered Dumbledore. "But not only have you harmed a fellow student again, you're out of control."

"Oh come off it, sir, I didn't harm him, I just gave him a makeover." Inwardly, though, James was more than alarmed. Sirius _needed_ him to visit, and it had been Dumbledore's own idea to have James go on a pranking rampage that excused him from being seen around the school for prolonged periods of time, under the pretence of serving a gagillion detentions. James had honoured this agreement.

He could, after all, do _so_ much worse.

"A makeover that has Mr. Snape in the Hospital Wing yet again."

"That's because he's a snivelling _git_ \- Besides, I'm mourning the loss of my best mate!" James argued before his headmaster could, making the old wizard chuckle in defeat despite himself. That was when James knew he had him. "I'm _devastated_ , sir! I think it's plain to see, look, I haven't even washed or anything, I-"

"Oh _that_ is plain to see. Off you go then, and tell Sirius that Madam Pomfrey will be along shortly. I believe she is seeing to Mr. Snape…"

"It's just tentacles, they'll go away on their own in a few days," James replied, flippant once more and inwardly relieved. He grabbed another handful of candy and hopping off the chair in one smooth motion. Best leave now before Dumbledore changed his mind.

"Are they now."

"Can't she just leave him like that? It's like, an improvement. Smells better, too."

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, gesturing him towards the jar of Floo powder. "And do wash up while you're at home, you're beginning to resemble Mr. Snape quite closely now."

"Oi!"

"... I would otherwise feel tempted to give _you_ tentacles."

"Oi, sir! That's harsh!"

"Is it? It's just tentacles, they'll go away on their own in a few days."

"Point taken. Alright, she can take them off… too bad I didn't even get to take a picture. Godric's Hall!"

"Better luck next time, James."

In a flash of light, James toppled out of his dad's fireplace, the only one the Potters had left open for travel.

"Hi Dad," he said, not bothering to dust himself off as he trotted out of the office. "You're getting a heavily-worded letter from McGoogles in a few." Coop laughed.

"Hello son, I'll deal with it. Sirius is downstairs with your mother." James' face split into a grin. He hadn't thought Sirius would be out of bed, he'd been incapable of walking before. "She's fattening him up like a Christmas turkey, you better go rescue him."

James left a trail of dust as he stomped downstairs, took the last steps at a jump, and trotted into the kitchen, where his Mum was serving Sirius what looked like a fourth helping of a banquet.

"There I thought I'd need to rescue you," he said for a greeting, pecking his Mum on the cheek and snatching some sausage from Sirius' plate. "Dad says Mum's fattening you up."

"I'm trying," Betty replied for Sirius, shaking her head. "But he's still thin as a skeleton."

"Yeah, you look dog-awful." It was over half a lie; compared to how he had looked a mere week ago, Sirius was the poster boy for health today.

"At least he's keeping his meals down, finally," Betty commented, busy on the stove.

Sirius shrugged one shoulder, mouth too full to speak. James snatched the fork from Sirius' hand and started helping him with his meal.

"Are you eating all of that? Hey, this is _good_ \- Mum, are you leaving me to starve here? You know how it's at Hogwarts, awful food, and the portions are so _tiny-_ -"

"There now, James, here's your plate. Stop picking on him and let him finish, he needs to be in bed before Poppy comes over for his check-up."

Sirius groaned.

"She only just _left_ ," he muttered. "It's not like I'm dying or anything."

"Not anymore, you're not, honey," Betty ruffled Sirius' hair and planted a kiss on his forehead, apparently not noticing he'd _almost_ flinched away at the touch. He was getting better at controlling himself, James noticed. "Go on, eat up and then both of you can go get settled before she arrives - and you better be gone by then, James."

Up in the bedroom, it smelled heavily of healing potions. James helped Sirius sit on his bed and down half a dozen concoctions, after which he promptly pulled a large bar of Honeyduke's best out of his pocket and handed it over, opened.

"To wash the taste away," he explained, sitting on the bedside next to Sirius as he finished downing his morning potions.

"'Ta."

For a few moments, they sat in silence, which was unusual for them, and thus couldn't - or shouldn't, in James' eyes - last long. James watched Sirius for a few moments. He looked every bit as tired and thin as his Mum had claimed, but he was recovering fast now, so it didn't worry him as much as the perpetual silence he seemed to be plunged in.

He was used to a loud and boisterous, happy Sirius who could talk your ears off in record time, not to this quiet, brooding version of his best mate, who could easily go all day and not say a word. It was made worse by the fact Sirius was no longer blocking _any_ of his thoughts or feelings from him - as per James' own request. Knowing what was going on in Sirius' head was depressing, but it also allowed James to figure out ways to get rid of it.

Deciding that quiet time was over, he flopped back on the bed, stretching.

"I can't wait for you to come back to school," he started, as if continuing a conversation they'd been having. He rolled onto his side, taking a bit of chocolate and eating it with relish. "It's dead dull at Hogwarts, Moony actually makes me do my homework by myself."

"Do you reckon he'll be mad?" Sirius asked quietly, turning his piece of chocolate around in his fingers, where it was melting fast.

" _Furious_ ," James said happily. "I put a whole lot of gibberish on McG's last essay-" There wasn't even a snort. James propped himself up on one arm, dropping the subject and steeling himself to answer Sirius' real question.

"He won't," he told him earnestly. "I'll explain- no, _listen_ ," he added, as Sirius was about to protest. "It's necessary for them to think you're dead, and you know it. I hate it as much as you do, and _believe me_ , it's pretty bloody crappy to see Pete crying his little mousy eyes out every time he thinks we're not looking, and Moony so sad - but we both know Moony _will_ tell Pete, and Pete can't keep a secret for fuck-all. Hell, _I'm_ not even supposed to know you're here, or-" He cut himself off before he said 'alright', because that wasn't true, not yet, "or that you're on the mend," he carried on smoothly. "They'll understand, and I swear you won't have to deal with their anger. After all, it's I who didn't tell them."

"Alright," Sirius mumbled. He still hated it though. It made James feel worse. "You should, though. Tell them."

"Eat that, you're making a mess there."

Sirius did, licking chocolate off his fingers without looking up. James rolled onto his back again.

"Had to hold tryouts," he resumed, in a conversational tone, "I need you back before the Ravenclaw match, mate. They have a wicked Beater now, the McKinnon bloke in fourth year, and I fear he'll manage to crack mine precious head open from the get-go if you're not around to take that blow for me."

It was every team's first (and sometimes only) strategy, to take James out first thing during a game. As the highest scorer Hogwarts had ever known, the longer he was in the air, the worse the opposing team would lose. It was the Gryffindor team's first rule to have Sirius watch James' back for the duration of every game, and thus, they hadn't lost a Cup — or indeed a game — in the four years the two had been on the team.

Sirius snorted, but still didn't look up, nor did he look too amused… or even remotely interested in what James was saying. James, as usual, decided not to dwell on that.

"Googles made me pick a substitute Beater," James went on, undeterred, snorting right after, whilst taking care not to sound too bitter. A tiny glance at Sirius revealed he was indeed looking at him now.

_Aha_ , he thought with something akin to relief, _not so far gone after all._

"I had to pick _Clearwater_ ," James added, groaning theatrically. Rob Clearwater had tried out before, for every position, and he was so abysmally _bad_ that James considered it a danger to the team to give him a Beater's club and letting him out in public. "He nearly wet himself, he was so excited. I kept your name on the roster, though," he went on, turning to look at the ceiling. "Googles didn't object, but she gave me this weird look - almost as if she were actually human."

This time, Sirius cracked a tiny smile. _Point scored_ , thought James, and rolled onto his side again.

"They all think I'm in denial or something. They let me get away with _anything_. I gave Snivellus tentacles earlier."

"Purple ones?"

_Finally, ye gods. Some interest._

"Hot pink," James answered evilly. "And I used that spell you found last term, you know, the one that makes everything just… _stick_."

Sirius laughed a bit. Not the barking guffaw James would have earned himself any other day, but he wasn't about to get picky. That laugh would come back when this matter was dealt with, he knew. Or hoped, whichever.

"Poops will have a hard time getting those off," he added with satisfaction, "she won't be here for another hour at least."

"That's a relief," Sirius mumbled. James nodded energetically, as if Sirius had just whooped out loud. Any other time, at least, he would have. There was no chance in hell Sirius enjoyed his healing rounds. He'd witnessed a bunch of them, and they didn't look like they were fun at all.

"No kidding, mate. There's this bit where each tentacle will multiply itself whenever she casts that dissection spell she loves so much, so who knows, she might not cotton on all day."

"That's good."

"Better, it means I can stay longer. McG wanted to expel me, but Dumbledore's fair, so." James shrugged carelessly. "I'm breaking your detention record, though."

"Not in a million years."

"The longer you take to trot yourself back to school," James told him warningly, "the more detentions I'll get. I'm a one-man army now."

"That's … a very near-sighted army."

Silence followed these words. For a few seconds, James stared at his best friend, who _had just done a funny_. A lame one, but - even a _tiny_ funny was a _funny_ , and James snickered obligingly. Inwardly, he was cheering.

"That's a dangerous army, I'll have you know."

"Because it keeps walking into walls?"

No, James _couldn't_ get used to the soft tone Sirius was speaking in; he couldn't bear to watch the way he was half turned away, not facing him at all but the floor between his own feet, as though he were contemplating toppling over forward if a strong enough breeze happened to blow. But his comments were of the kind he'd missed most, and though everything else was still _wrong_ with Sirius, this was so very _right_ that it was enough to make James' spirits soar.

"Say what you will, Padfoot. Everyone fears me, but I think it's just because your death has gotten to me so badly. I'm James Potter, the Dangerously Unstable."

"So nothing's changed, really."

"When _are_ you coming back, though?" James asked, sitting up. Sirius looked at him for a moment, and James could almost hear his jumbled thoughts in his own head. He knew the answer before it was out, in the same quiet tone that had no business coming out of Sirius' mouth.

"I don't know."

"We need to get you ready for that Ravenclaw game, and prepare your homecoming pranking party- because you're getting one. You need to come back with a right proper bang." This was an attempt at changing the subject, because what he was sensing from Sirius was the sort of feeling he was trying to rout out, though it felt impossible to achieve that just now.

"I think… If- _When_ I go back, I'll sit this season out," Sirius said, and he was earnestly rueful. James' happy bubble, which he'd patched up so many times over the past couple of weeks if only to cheer Sirius up, got yet another puncture.

"What? You can't be _serious_ -" he dismissed the old pun in the face of what he was hearing. "No, you _can_ ' _t_ , didn't you hear what I said? Eh? Weren't you _listening_? The Ravenclaws will have my head, and who will come visit you then?" James stared at him in alarm. Sirius sighed heavily, back to examining the floor.

"I'm sorry, James. I really am, it's just…"

"You can have Dad's broomstick," James cut him off hurriedly, sensing the reason for how Sirius felt but not daring to feel relief yet. "Look, I know your broom's gone, as are most of your things, but you can't just sit an entire season out. Dad'll be happy to let you have it, he never even flies anymore." And if his Dad had a problem with it, he could just as well get Sirius a new broomstick. And James too, while he was at it. He even had the model picked out and everything.

"I… No, I _couldn't_. Your parents have done enough, all of you have, and..."

"Yeah, and we're happy to, so don't come to me with lame excuses," James said, shaking his head. "You're over half a Potter now anyhow, best fly like a Potter too - on a first class broom, not that old twig you had since before school. I'm _not_ taking your name off the roster, and that's final."

Sirius heaved a sigh, but James could tell he was relieved, and thankful, and deep, deep down, he was happy. A little.

"Alright, don't."

_And he scores again!_

"Wasn't gonna." James let the silence stretch again, waiting for the inevitable-

"What broom has your dad got?"

_Score!_

"Nimbus 1980," said James, and Sirius' eyebrows rose in appreciation. James grinned at him. "All yours, if you agree to keep that _idiot_ Clearwater off my back this season, I swear he'll knock himself out one of these days."

Sirius didn't answer. Then again, he didn't need to.

"And about your homecoming pranking party," James reminded him gently, as he was slipping back into the brooding expression he'd been wearing ever since New Year's. "Mum said yesterday she reckons you'll be good to go back to Hogwarts in ten days or so, that's barely enough time to prepare that event."

Sirius took some more chocolate, that pensive look on his face that wasn't quite what James had expected to see, even with all the new changes in his best mate's behaviour of late. He'd become more… calculating, colder, more detached, perhaps. And he was definitely analysing every aspect of James' every word; he'd lost a lot, and he was still coming to terms with all of what had happened, the worst of which, James reminded himself, he still didn't know about.

"It has to be _grand_ ," James told him gently, rather than shaking him and yelling at him to snap out of it. That would come on its own, wouldn't it? All he had to do was push Sirius back into his old self, one small step at a time. Patience, the sort he'd never thought himself capable of, was coming into play. "And loud…" Sirius' expression changed ever so slightly. "And put everyone on their toes…"

Ah, who was he kidding? James wouldn't let himself feel disappointed, but it was damn hard.

"A bang," Sirius said, and James' head snapped up. That tone had been one he'd missed the most.

"A _big_ one," he agreed, grinning at the devilish expression spreading on Sirius' face.

"A big one," Sirius repeated, and this time, the old grin was unmistakably _there_. For a moment only, but James' hopes were suddenly soaring again.

"Googles will go deaf out of it," James promised vehemently.

"Are there enough fireworks around?"

"With Dad doing the shopping? We'll wipe Filibuster's clean out."

"Alright," James said a while later, when it was clear he had reached Sirius' limit for marauding interaction for the day. He'd gladly have stayed, but he had exhausted his friend and he knew it. Sirius was trying not to let it show, but he _was_ rather in need of the nurse and probably some more care from the Potters. "I have to dash. Quidditch practice in an hour, and I still need to settle my detention with Dumbledore."

"He makes you do them?"

"Yeah, I do them in my spare time, and without you there, I have a hell of a lot of it," was the response. "C'mon, let's put you in bed before you fall over." Sirius bit back winces as James followed up on his words, which resulted in a now familiar slew of _whoops_ _sorrys_ and groans and _ows_ and more _sorrys_ , but in the end the grey-eyed Marauder was tucked in and marginally comfortable amid his fluffed-up pillows, sipping his sleeping tea and looking like he'd _not_ fall off the bed if he zonked out out of the blue. Because he did that a _lot_ , abruptly and without warning.

James regarded his handiwork critically for a few moments, during which Sirius regarded him back, but his expression was more resigned than anything.

Sure, he knew better than to _complain_ about James leaving, but their shared link had become much more specific, in a way. Before, they had been able to share thoughts, and occasionally look through each others' eyes in times of great danger, but now James could pick Sirius' feelings apart with as much ease as he could his own, and since their mutual agreement, even though Sirius looked away first, ashamed for even _feeling_ what he did, he didn't hide _anything_ he felt from James any longer, tempted though he was.

"I'm sorry," James answered, sitting on Sirius' bedside once again. "I don't want to go, but I _have_ to."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too. But," James took a deep breath, "don't feel bad about it. I miss you too. I'd stay if I could."

"I know you would. I'm—" he thankfully cut himself off before apologising once more, which was an improvement from every single day since James had to return to Hogwarts. Instead, Sirius heaved a sigh, feeling _guilty_ for missing James in the first place, of all things.

Yes, their mindlink had its definite downsides.

"Oh, _gah_." James clapped himself on the forehead, inwardly kicking himself for his blunder. He'd meant to cheer Sirius up with it, but had completely forgotten. He rummaged around his pockets, fingers long used to the chaos in them sorting through their contents. Sirius, he noted without even needing to look, was watching him with something vaguely resembling curiosity.

"I forgot - here, I rescued them from your mother's raid last week." He handed him his one-way mirror, pocket knife and the favourite red chew toy with the hoarse squeak and tooth marks.

"She was there already?" Sirius asked. James nodded grimly.

"Yeah, last Tuesday. It took us _ages_ to get through that trunk of yours." He'd have expected Sirius to at least crack a smile, but there was no response. "Moony got skunked, and I ended up with tartan skin."

"Sorr—"

"No, don't. It made them laugh; they don't do that so often anymore."

Sirius deflated.

"I miss them."

"And they miss you. Focus on getting better, yeah? I'll be a mirror call away." And while this made Sirius' eyes light up, it made James' day. He placed Sirius' wand on his bedside table.

"Call me after your nap, why don't you?"

"Thanks."

"No problem. Anything you need, just call me up, okay?" Sirius nodded, but the glint was gone again, and James knew who would be calling who on the mirror for a while.

"I'll get going, then," James said, and reluctantly got to his feet. Sirius nodded again, and James hated not being able to stay, when he was plainly needed more here than anywhere else.

"I'll blow up a toilet tonight, who knows, I might get another detention tomorrow," he said, then pulled Sirius into a one-armed hug, out of the blue. "Just focus on getting better, will you? I'm running out of things to break in my fits of rage and mindless destruction over your loss."

"I'll do that," Sirius promised.

James checked his watch even as he closed the door behind him, slipping into an upstairs bathroom as Madam Pomfrey made her way to Sirius' room. Part of Dumbledore's deal included nobody else finding out that James was leaving the school on a daily basis, and that included the nurse. She was risking enough as it was, coming over several times a day to heal Sirius. She didn't need more on her plate.

And, James mused as he descended the stairs, she'd be furious if she ever found out that the sudden increase in students visiting her wing to get various hexes/charms off could neatly be laid at his feet.

"…thank you again for bringing him, Albus," his Mum was saying. "It can't be easy to have James acting out like that on top of everything else, and I know how difficult he can get." James stopped on the landing, listening hard.

"He has been…overly inspired by the assignment," Dumbledore replied, chuckling. "But can you blame the lad? Half the school is siding against Sirius, against his innocence. Friends and House mates even, fewer speak out against even the wildest accusations as time passes. He can't take any of that lying down, and let us be honest, would you? Would I?"

There was no response James could hear, but he assumed his parents had shaken their heads.

"He _is_ a bit of a powder keg right now, however. Anything will set him off, and he has become exceedingly wand happy. I would never have entertained the thought that Sirius could be a calming influence in James' life, but now there is little evidence to the contrary."

"They've been inseparable ever since they met at that party, remember?" Betty said wistfully. James' dad grunted his agreement in the background. "They bonded, and since then there is nothing and no-one who can break them apart. I am sorry it is hard on everyone, but if you want me to keep James from defending Sirius' name… that is something I cannot do. The lad has suffered more than most, for years, trying to turn that horrible prejudice of his name around. It would be doing him a disservice, if we allowed it to reappear in connection with him, particularly now."

"Oh no, I wouldn't ever ask you such a thing. It is not James who needs to stop, it's certain members of our student body who seem intent on provoking him and anyone Sirius was ever friendly with. Horace believes that Severus Snape is one of the main instigators, together with Sirius' own cousin Narcissa... and his brother."

James gritted his teeth to bite back an outraged shout. He hadn't heard Reg trash-talking about Sirius, but he had just found himself another target.

"However, we are all worried. The Gryffindors who are close to them both are devastated, and what James is doing could spark an inter-House war we cannot afford. Minerva said that others are following his example already, and the Slytherins in particular do not stop hitting buttons with her lions."

James couldn't find fault in that, though Dumbledore clearly did.

"In times like these we must stand strong together, and I wish James would use his exceptional leadership skills for something less destructive."

James frowned; he hadn't thought of himself as someone others would follow. Well, except for his three best friends, but they were all borderline insane.

"When Sirius is back, he will surely do so," his Dad said confidently. "We cannot afford another blow like this one, and I am certain our James isn't blind to that. But neither can we be cowed by slander. If we let public opinion, led by the likes of that woman Skeeter, dictate so ignorantly what Sirius is supposed to be like, then it _will_ have consequences. Maybe in a few weeks' time, maybe years from now, but he doesn't deserve that. He has sacrificed enough already, and he will continue fighting this war, Albus, on our side… he could do without the label the public is trying to pin on him. It could get him landed in Azkaban if this trend is unchecked."

"What do you suggest, old friend?" Dumbledore asked. James would like to know too.

"I will make a statement. Right now, the public is divided between believing Sirius a killer, and believing him dead. It doesn't help that his mother has not come forward confirming his death, so I will do so. I'll tell them why he was being hunted as well. What he did, for us and for the Hollow."

"It's a risky move, Coop."

"It's riskier not to do anything," James' father replied. "We are already being targeted, as individuals and as a community both. Sirius nearly died defying Voldemort, protecting us, and by extension, this village - but the public doesn't know that. And I believe they should. I've heard that blockhead Cornelius Fudge is clamouring for Sirius to be given the Dementor's Kiss if he is captured." James hadn't heard that, but the news, though not unexpected, made his stomach plummet.

"You'd be drawing the Death Eaters to your door."

"And I'll make sure if they ever come knocking, they'll be hit hard."

"Very well. If you need anything, do not hesitate to ask. I should take James back. James? Come on down, I believe there is a new Beater you must train."

James didn't apologise for eavesdropping, but his expression was very thoughtful as he faced his parents.

"You're talking to the papers."

"This very evening." His Dad confirmed.

"You really think that Sirius could get locked up just because people are spreading lies?"

"Yes. At the very least, he would not have any public support if someone chose to accuse him of something equally far-fetched, now or in the future. Being a Black, he will never be beyond suspicion, and people will be quick to judge every little thing he does wrong. That's why we need to nip this in the bud."

"I want to help."

"Then _help_ ," his Mum suggested. "Help Hogwarts be a place without such injustice, without division, rather than further it."

"I've been going at it all wrong, haven't I."

"I believe there is definite room for improvement, darling," Betty said, drawing him into a hug. "We cannot ask you not to be angry, but it is important to remember that we _are_ at war, and actions have consequences." She pulled away, to look into her son's hazel eyes. "So, if we can have Sirius return to a school that doesn't make his life even harder, I'd say those are consequences I could be happy with."

"I'll do my best, Mum."

"I know you will, darling. And James? The box from Gambol and Japes arrived last night, try not to hurt yourself with those things."

"Don't worry, I won't."

He had never thought that one day the venerable Albus Dumbledore, defeater of Grindelwald and Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot, would help him _smuggle_ pranks and fireworks into the school, but that was exactly what happened. He even allowed James the use of the Come-and-Go room for his pranking purposes. Only until it wasn't necessary to earn detentions to see Sirius, but James was coming to see his Headmaster in an entirely new light.

Dumbledore remained in the room with James and helped him unpack the assortment of pranks they had brought. Together, they started devising a plan to achieve something James had not before given a thought to: how to turn Hogwarts into the truly safe haven it was meant to be, not just for Sirius, but for anyone and everyone who needed it to remain as a beacon of the Light.

And, as both wizards soon discovered to their surprise, together they could achieve unthought-of goals.

.

* * *

.

"We thought he'd never let you out of detention," Remus commented a handful of hours later, as James left the Head Office, to find Remus and Peter waiting outside, even if it was after curfew.

James forced out a smile. Detention would have been better than the close of his evening with the Headmaster.

He'd gone to Quidditch practice, which was depressingly frustrating and got cut short when Clearwater clubbed himself on the head - as predicted - and the instant he left the Hospital Wing, James had found Dumbledore waiting for him, to take him to his detention.

They had gone over what would happen when Sirius returned, and it was the stuff of nightmares.

"What did he make you do?" Peter asked, handing James a bag with sandwiches, which the latter accepted gratefully. They reached a staircase, and Pete stumbled over his feet. James helped him keep his balance in an automatic reaction.

"Filing," he replied, and it was the truth. They had gone over and prepared Sirius' file for the Wizengamot, with a counter to anything and everything he would be accused of, might be accused of, and could maybe be accused of. The only thing James left out was that he was an Animagus, but worry gnawed on him regardless. What if he'd been seen?

"Snape got detention too," Remus informed grimly. James had all but forgotten about the tentacles. "And you'll never believe _who_ went to Sluggie and accused _him_."

"Who?" James gave Remus a confused look. He'd hexed Snivellus because he'd been calling someone a filthy Mudblood, but had never even bothered to wonder who it was. And then he'd ended the duel by giving him tentacles, which had taken up his attention entirely.

"Evans."

"No _way_ — isn't she like, Snivellus' bestest friend _ever_?" James stared, Remus and Pete shook their heads. "I didn't see her at all when we were fighting."

"Oh, she _was_ there," Pete chimed in, giving him an uncertain grin. Gods, it was as if they were getting used to smiling again at all.

"He called her a — a _you-know-what_."

James stopped in his tracks.

"You mean, it was _her_ he was attacking?" Remus and Pete smiled a little more widely, and for a moment, the sorrow was gone from their eyes.

"Yeah, Prongs."

"You gallantly saved Evans at long last."

"And you didn't even _notice_!"

"Pull the other one." To say James was stunned would be sort of an understatement.

"I heard she argued with McG to not expel you, and she was hovering around Dumbledore's office all afternoon to tell him what really happened."

James' heart felt uncharacteristically warm and fuzzy. The truth of the matter, as he saw it, was that Snivellus had dragged Sirius' name through the muck one too many times, and he had been looking for him to pick a fight; that he had caught Snape bullying and insulting someone hadn't even registered until now.

"She's waiting for you in the Common Room."

Suddenly James worried about how much his breath smelled. He ruffled his hair nervously. Sucked in a few deep breaths to control his sudden nerves. It made the other two Marauders chuckle.

"Oh shurrup."

.

* * *

.

"Have you _found_ anything?" Voldemort' voice carried across the room, frosty with impatience.

"We did, my lord." Lucius' tone was rather constipated, but he Dark Lord believed that it had more to do with the way his nose was brushing the carpet. Still, he already sensed failure from that end, so he didn't allow Lucius or any of his companions to stand. He liked them better when they grovelled, that aristocratic bunch who believed themselves his equals.

_Inbred Idiots_.

" _And_?" Voldemort prompted impatiently, when nothing was forthcoming from Lucius' end.

"My lord, we found the source of the Trace. We… we brought it back."

"You found his body, you mean?"

"No, lord. We found… this. Show him, Rodolphus."

Not daring to straighten up, Lestrange produced a vase from the sack he had been carrying. It had been obviously small for a body, but things such as size didn't matter in the magical world. Anything, _anyone,_ could be shrunk to fit in one's pocket.

Sadly, the Dark Lord mused as he watched Lestrange struggle with the bag and try to remain in the grovelling position the Death Eaters had not yet been released from, this was a bog-standard sack. And what Rodolphus was holding aloft over his head, which was once again pressed against the carpet, looked like a bog-standard vase.

Voldemort flicked his fingers and the vase, still wet and smelling faintly of seaweed, sailed into his hands. Attached to it was the golden pin with the Black crest in white silver, which he himself had provided to Orion all those years ago, when Sirius had been pledged to him.

The Dark Lord looked the pin over in a silence that was only broken by the badly-muffled sniffling and coughs of the twelve Death Eaters still prostrate before him. He paid them no mind, deep in thought and memory for a few eternally long moments.

The Black heir had unknowingly been the prize item in his collection, beautiful, of purest blood and keen intellect, the lad encompassed everything Voldemort envied of the High Houses. Long ago he had decided to groom him as his right-hand man, his successor if he couldn't achieve immortality… And the boy's muggle-loving ways and instinctive allegiance to the Light had made it laughably easy to sway imposing, hard-headed Orion Black to give him his firstborn son. The wizard had been frustrated because the lad would not go muggle-baiting, of all things.

To be fair, six was too much of a tender age to start someone on such a sport, and Sirius had flat-out refused to hurt some girl or other.

By the time he was eight, Sirius had belonged to Voldemort in all but name, and had become a key figure in his plans to strike the worst-possible blow to the Light. He was friends with James Potter, the heir of Gryffindor, and it was James whom Voldemort wanted with all his heart.

So he had allowed Sirius to foster the friendship, had allowed him to spend extended periods of time at Alphard's and visit the Potters, had been _delighted_ when the boy was Sorted into Gryffindor rather than the expected Slytherin. That evening Sirius had become officially his, to do with as he pleased.

Orion and Walburga had been devastated, and Voldemort had spent long hours assuring them that he would make them feel proud of their son in the end, back in the day where he still had to negotiate to get his way. He'd had a heavy, if unseen hand in the boy's _education_ ever since.

It had been an entertaining pastime.

In the background someone coughed. Voldemort ignored them.

He had not anticipated that his little Lion would fight him every step of the way, whenever he could, and without even knowing that he belonged to Voldemort. Oh, he had applauded when Orion complained that the boy had managed to throw off the Imperius curse at age twelve. He had secretly rejoiced when his defiance drove his parents to distraction. He had revelled in the power that had been gifted to him, and daydreamed of the time when Sirius was turned.

He was not so happy, now.

Black now _knew_ what he was wanted for. He knew, and he had withstood torture far better than most of those assembled before him ever could. He had also escaped, even after the Dark Lord gave him a taster of the power absorbing spell, which he was planning on using on both him and Potter if they refused to enter his service; he had survived impossible odds… and he was as yet unbroken, defying the Dark Lord with each escape.

He had seen their memories, after all. He had seen Sirius' expression as he lost hope of ever being safe from them, when they surprised him in that house; he had expected the boy to surrender once he reached that point, as everyone did... but he had witnessed as Black finally decided to openly fight back and challenge them all instead. He had seen, with no small measure of surprise, as his Death Eaters were bested in the most uneven duel of all, twice over in less than one hour.

After all that had happened, all he seemed to have accomplished whilst raising Sirius Black, was to create a terrible enemy for himself.

This, the Dark Lord had not anticipated at all.

He ought to have started grooming this Lion in his first year. Somehow, this realisation made him even more vexed.

"Fleamont Potter did this," he stated, unsticking the pin from the vase and turning it around so that it reflected the light. The vase floated back in front of Rodolphus. "There are only three wizards who could break my Tristram Trace; Potter, Dumbledore, and McAlpin. It is perhaps, safe to say that Black is at Godric's Hall or at Hogwarts, if he still lives. Which," the Dark Lord got to his feet, and the grovelling dozen before him raised their heads as one. Constipated faces and teary eyes watched him without making eye contact. "Brings us to the second order of business. I have looked at your memories. You tried to _kill_ him. That was not the order, you well knew that then as you do now." Not that it made a difference; the boy had escaped and as yet there was no explanation as to _how_.

He surveyed the group shifting before him, thinking of a suitable punishment, even if he had not finished listing their offences yet.

"You were _seen_ in Godric's Hollow. You _failed_ to bring James Potter _and_ Sirius Black to me. You were pushed back in battle by a bunch of Muggle-loving _villagers_. And you spent the past three weeks looking for a _vase_."

Someone sneezed, and the drapes behind him caught fire. Voldemort sighed inaudibly, putting the fire out with a flick of his wand, thinking of a suitable punishment for his failed — and now contagious — Death Eaters. Of course, they just had to get ill whilst scouring the North Sea for the boy. Now there was a magical flu epidemic to deal with.

Lucius sneezed, and behind him, Bellatrix was thrown into the air with a startled screech.

Voldemort sighed, audibly this time.

This would be a long day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: The truth comes out in different ways and degrees. Voldemort changes tactics, Remus has union troubles, James gets called wanker a lot, Dumbledore decides to skive, and Coop and Sirius go off on a trip down a certain lane.


	8. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: The truth comes out in different ways and degrees. Voldemort changes tactics, Remus has union troubles, James gets called wanker a lot, Dumbledore decides to skive, and Coop and Sirius go off on a trip down a certain lane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Nup, still not mine

* * *

**Part Eight: The Truth**

* * *

 

Sirius woke up with a start, to the now familiar surroundings of his and James' shared bedroom. It still took him a while to get his bearings, longer still to shake the nightmare that had woken him again.

_"Deep breaths, don't forget to breathe,"_ James' Dad had told him countless times, and Sirius tried to follow that one simple instruction, but it wasn't easy. It was harder still to shake the feeling of misery constantly trying to squeeze the air out of his lungs, so deep breaths were out of the question.

He tried to remember what day it was, but couldn't; tried to remember when James had been here last, what they'd talked about, when he'd left… even what happened after that, but it was all a blur, as though he were looking for his recollections while wading through thick fog. He knew they were _there_ , just out of reach, but try as he might, he couldn't find them.

Sleep, then, was once more on the agenda. Sometimes that made the fog disappear, or lighten enough that he could peer through it.

"I don't know what it is," woke him up a while later. Outside, a light drizzle was falling, and his room was empty, but he knew that voice. Sirius listened intently. "I don't know what they did to him, but it's fighting my every last treatment." It was coming from beyond his door.

"Could it be a combination of spells?" He knew that other voice too, didn't he? Sirius closed his eyes, tried to focus… oh. _Mrs. P_.

"Or spells _and_ potions?" Mr. P asked next. It was easier to remember once his brain had started on the process of doing so at all.

"Yes, I'm almost certain," and _that_ was the school nurse. "…but unless we know what he was hit with, exactly, I can't help him much. It has been nearly a month, and he can't go back to school if he can't stay awake for more than an hour or two at a time, or even remember what he was doing before he blacked out."

Sirius sighed. This wasn't anything he hadn't heard before, but listening to the nurse complain about him made him restless, and he couldn't out of bed yet. So he tuned her out, making a blind grab for a book on his bedside table. It looked familiar, but he couldn't really place where he'd seen it before; most things ended up doing that in his head, he knew. And he also knew he had the answer to the nurse's question, but he didn't _know_ what it was.

He read the title: _The Beater's Bible_. He'd read this already, hadn't he? As he opened the book, he was sure he had, but he couldn't recall any of it unless he read it again, only to realise he'd already known what was in it. This was frustrating.

He racked his brain for information, wondering why it was keeping secrets from him. Tried to remember anything at all.

Voldemort's face, with those unnaturally white teeth and gleaming red eyes, appeared before his mind's eye. Suddenly, he was back in his old room, hurting all over.

_"You're mine, little Lion. And you will give me the Potters, whether you want to or not."_

_"Never."_ He'd _said_ that, right? Or had he said something else?

_Voldemort raised his wand. He could feel the crackle of magic around him, heard a spell being cast._

Sirius felt a warning twinge in the back of his head, and next he knew, the world went black.

.

* * *

Voldemort punished failure because he _hated_ it.

However, he was not the Unforgivable-throwing, deranged type of Dark Lord. Not to his followers, at least, not _yet_. Despair though he sometimes might of their failures, he was nothing if not aware that he needed them for a reason, and they needed _him_ for others, mostly ideological ones.

Therein lay precisely his problem.

He wanted something real and tangible: the control of the Wizarding World in his iron grip, all Muggles dead, or better yet, scattered across the fields of Europe in little stinking heaps full of maggots. His followers, however, wanted to belong to _something_ that was larger than them, wanted to feel that they, of the ancient families, were _someone_.

Voldemort knew that there was a host of things that could give them _that._

He, however, could not dream of ever getting to seize power unless he was the _only_ source of that _something_ they wanted that they could see. And for that to work out, that _something_ had to be constantly within reach and out of their grasp.

If he went and cast the Cruciatus on them all like he wished he could, his Death Eaters would surely desert or overthrow him and choose one from among themselves to replace him, one who actually _served_ their purposes.

Though looking at this bunch of inbred idiots, he was more inclined to believe they'd kill each other simply trying to be the next Dark Lord or Lordette.

It _had_ happened before, to other aspiring dictators, and though he _was_ becoming a symbol of fear, chaos and destruction, symbols could always change.

So, his punishments did not, to his credit and no matter what people might say, usually involve Unforgivables. He reserved those for liars and traitors among his followers, and _especially_ for prisoners and enemies. Those on the "other side" he _could_ torture to his heart's content, and he'd be applauded for it; his own followers, though…

Required _creativity_.

That didn't mean that his punishments were not nasty. Or that they didn't often hurt as much; but they required a little finesse that his loyal Death Eaters lacked themselves.

Today was no exception.

Since his Death Eaters _loved_ casting Unforgivable Curses around and feeling big and powerful and things, he had simply locked them in a cramped little room and ordered them to work things out among themselves.

"You _had them both_ , and you lost them. So, you owe me two prisoners, _alive_ , not dead, Bellatrix, do remember that please. So _unless_ you have the answer to your current predicament and a workable plan to get it done, you shall not leave this room."

When they left the room, he told them, they could come get their Pepper-Up potions and inform him of their new organisation, their new leader, and of the plan to find Black and capture Potter that they had come up with.

Voldemort believed he had just earned himself a few days off, as it were. Already smoke was billowing out from under the door of their meeting room, and he could hear yells and shouts and screams.

Chaos, panic and disorder.

He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. If anyone knew how much like raising a bunch of unruly brats being a Dark Lord was, he was sure he'd never have any competition at all. And he'd be Albus' laughing stock.

He'd also have to tell the elves to cast fire barriers and silencing charms before he went to the theatre tonight. His children tended to level any building they were in, if left unsupervised, after all.

* * *

"Hello, Sirius." Twinkling blue eyes met his own as they opened, and Sirius gave a start. "Do you know where you are?"

He looked around. Yeah, he did. Sort of. Maybe. He swallowed dryly.

"James' house?" He ventured.

"Correct, my boy." The eyes twinkled at him, and Sirius noticed they were connected to a long pointy nose… and some shiny, uh, what was the word? _Glasses_ , and a beard… and there was a face poking out through all the silvery white hair… "Do you know what day it is?"

That was an easy one.

"No."

"And do you know me?"

"Is that a trick question?"

"Is it?"

"I… No. I don't know." Sometimes it was easier to let others provide the answers.

"I'm Albus Dumbledore. Your Headmaster."

"Oh. _Oh_ , right, yeah. I remember now. Sorry about your office."

The Headmaster chuckled, but he seemed worried.

"Oh, don't worry. I had James straighten it out."

"James. Yeah." Sirius blinked. Gods, he was _slow_ in the uptake today. He pummelled his brain to jumpstart it and get it to cooperate, and then James' face finally appeared before his mind's eye. "James. Gotcha."

"It's not the first time I've visited you, you know?"

"Really?" Unbidden, Sirius now recalled three, no, _four_ times he'd seen the Hogwarts Head since he'd woken up in this room. He had apologised for the office then too, hadn't he. "Oh. That's right. I think I remember now."

"But you're having trouble with that, don't you?"

"Yes." Sirius heaved a sigh, tried to explain. "Some things are just… _gone_. It's like I _should_ know, but I don't. And yet, I feel like I _do_ know. I just… don't. Until someone reminds me, and then I know it again… but I forget it right after."

"That must be frustrating."

Sirius now noticed Mrs. P close by. He never forgot _her_ , for some reason. And the wild-haired wizard hovering behind her, was… _gah_.

"Frustrating. Yeah." With James, it was easier. He rarely ever made him rack his brain for anything, providing answers or at least hints all the time. The Headmaster seemed to always force him to think of his own responses.

"There is something I would like to try. This is a Pensieve."

"Pensieve. Right. My uncle…" Sirius snapped his fingers a few times to place the name before he lost it, "uh, _Alfie_ , he had one just like it."

"It's his, he loaned it to me, to help you."

"How?"

"Poppy thinks you have a mind block lodged in your head, something that is hiding your thoughts from yourself, and it is keeping you from healing. With the Pensieve, we could maybe figure out what it is."

Sirius frowned. It sounded simple and straightforward, but there were other implications, weren't there? He was sure there were… now, if he could only remember _what_ they were, he'd be set.

"You want to look at my _memories_?"

"Yes."

"No. I don't want _you_ in my head." That was obvious, and completely unrelated to the fact Sirius had _no_ idea why Dumbledore should not poke inside his mind. Ever.

"Fair enough. In that case, Coop has agreed to help. It's the only way we will be able to help you heal."

Sirius remained silent. It took some additional prodding to get him to speak.

"They're ugly. The ones I remember anyway."

"I know, my boy. And I'm sorry, but I cannot think of another way to help you out of this fix."

"What if… what if there's stuff I don't want to remember?"

"I am certain that there will be, my boy. But in the end, facing it is part of overcoming it. Our history helps us not to repeat the same things in the future."

"And that can only be if we remember." Mr. P (Sirius had finally recalled him) had said that last, in that gentle tone that Sirius had become used to hearing. "Even if it's nasty."

He didn't want to remember those memories, though. Ugly was just one word for them. The truth was, Sirius was ashamed for having them at all.

While some things, like the Muggle girl's death, stood out in his mind, so strongly his brain had gotten stuck on them and he couldn't think of much else, others were _gone_ , just out of reach, and he only recalled bits and pieces from his nightmares. Wasn't that bad _enough_?

And… who _would_ know about them? What would they think of him, if they saw him crying in pain and sobbing out his responses to Voldemort, writhing on the floor and beaten like a coward? What would the Potters think of him when they found out Voldemort had been to his mother's house before? And worse, what would _he_ think of _himself_ when he saw what he had forgotten?

_I guess I'll find out_.

"Alright," Sirius whispered in defeat, though he was already dreading the prospect. "I'll do it."

"Are you sure?" Mr. P wanted to know.

"It's better than second-guessing myself all the time. Better than forgetting every little thing. At least… at least, I'll know the truth, and so will you."

"Very well," Dumbledore said. "Let us get ready, then."

Sirius nodded, but his mind was miles away again, busy wondering what day it was, and when James had visited last.

.

* * *

.

While Sirius was being dressed and transported to Mr. P's office, at Hogwarts, James was otherwise preoccupied.

"I shouldn't have eaten that sandwich, it had onions in it." He was standing in front of the Fat Lady's portrait, worried about having _onion_ breath and facing Evans with it.

"Oi, I thought you _liked_ onions!"

"I do… I just wish I hadn't eaten that damn sandwich just now."

"Hey, I made it for you!"

"I know, Wormtail, and it was good, but."

"Here, have a mint."

"I want one too."

"Thanks, Remus."

"Yeah, thanks. Can I have another?"

Remus gave Pete a second mint, then pocketed the package and spoke the password. Peter shoved James through, nearly making him choke on his candy.

"See you upstairs. C'mon, Wormy." Remus yanked Peter along.

"Oi!"

James could hear his friends bickering all the way to their first floor dormitory, but his attention was now focused on the woman of his dreams, who somehow managed to make a bathrobe and pigtails (and slippers shaped like bunnies) look sexy. Gods, he was so nervous.

"Hi, Ja— Potter."

"Um. Yes. Hi, Evans." James could feel the heat emanating from his collar. And was he sweaty? Was he… _stinky_? He hadn't taken that shower, had he?

_Part of her hangs around Snivellus, so don't worry. She's used to smelly_.

"You weren't expelled?" Evans — _Lily_ — asked. James shook his head, still trying to decide if that voice had been his mind or Sirius' just now. He needed to change the tone of his conscience on the double.

"No, just detention." He shifted from one foot to the other, trying not to fidget.

"Ah." Ev— _Lily_ said. "That's a relief. I mean, I thought McGonagall was going to, after what you did to Severus."

Severus _? Give me a break!_

Okay, _that_ was most definitely his own mind. Why couldn't it speak in Lily's voice? Hmm, now there was a thought.

"He had no business saying what he did," James replied, perching gingerly on the armrest of her sofa. Gods, but he was knackered. He only hoped he wouldn't say anything stupid and incur her wrath. "It was well worth the hundred points, if you ask me."

"One hundred?" Lily seemed confused.

James thought she looked adorable when she looked confused.

"I thought it was only twenty, after I talked to Dumbledore."

"Oh… you did? I haven't looked at the hour glasses. But… Thanks," James looked confused now, but this was the first time he'd ever, _ever_ , managed to hold a conversation with Evans that a) lasted for more than three minutes, and b) did not include her snapping at him or hexing him, or both.

"No problem," she answered with a smile, but she seemed sad, too. "I wanted to thank you, you know, for standing up to him."

She had just thanked him. THANKED _him_!

_Oh. My. GodsofQuidditchandtheholySnitch!_

"Anytime," James said aloud, but he was too busy feeling fuzzy and warm inside to elaborate for a few moments. "Y'know, what else are—" he took a deep breath, then a deeper plunge, "y'know, _friends_ , for?"

Lily gave him a smile. James was mesmerised, deeply trapped in the clutches of what Sirius had officially named the PISS (Potter Inarticulate Stuttering Syndrome, for those in the know).

"Thanks, James. That's kind of you to say."

_ShecalledmeJames_!

"Y'know. Anytime, anything you need. Honest." Gods, he was talking code here.

"I also wanted to tell you," she spoke up after an additional, awkward moment, "I'm… I'm sorry for your loss. I should've come to you sooner, but…"

The PISS was evaporating fast, replaced by a feeling like his stomach was twisting into knots around his ankles. James' next breath had elements of a shudder in it.

"But," Lily said, gorgeously contrite, "I thought you'd think me a hypocrite… We weren't friends, and I thought… I thought, well I thought you'd be mad at me for it."

James' brain had ground to a halt at 'we weren't friends', though. Did that mean that now they _were_?

"Don't worry about it," he mumbled, then, "I wouldn't have, though. Thought you a hypocrite, I mean. I know you never got along." _Gods, Potter!_ His mind chided. _What happened to sweeping her off her feet?_! _Stop talking about your fake dead best friend and start wooing!_

"I know he meant a lot to you, and we might never have become close, but I'm really sorry for what happened."

And now James was thankful she hadn't said 'death'. He could answer honestly, so he did.

"I'm sorry for what happened too." Should he ask her out on a date for the next Hogsmeade weekend now?

However, he never got to do it, because just _then,_ she wrapped him in a hug and his already overwhelmed brain shut down, while in the background the world ground to a screeching halt.

.

* * *

.

Mr. P helped Sirius hobble to his office, which occupied the entire South wing of the large Manor built by Godric Gryffindor so many centuries before. It wasn't, so he said, because Sirius couldn't manage on his own, it was because he needed to keep weight off that leg.

Sirius didn't object, his leg had been slashed, splinched and broken a few times, and it still hurt whenever he walked. Earlier, he had managed on his own, but only so James wouldn't help him, and he had come to regret that decision. However, embarrassment just wasn't something he was permitted to feel anymore in the Potter household, not where they were concerned.

They'd reminded him of that just moments earlier, so it was still fresh on his mind.

A clock on the mantel chimed that it was almost midnight, and the calendar next to it read _Jan 20_. Huh.

So that meant… That meant James had been here only hours earlier.

It felt as if so much longer had passed, he realised, as he was settled on a sofa, and an elf propped up his bum leg on a stool and covered him warmly with a thick blanket.

"Are you ready, my boy?" Mr. P asked him, drawing him back to the present. Sirius blinked.

"Ready? _Oh_. Right."

At this rate, he thought wryly, that's what his epitaph would read. Sirius Black — Oh. Right.

"Just a sec." He focused for a few moments, reaching out to James, then blocked their mind-link with everything he could. This, though technically a breach of their agreement, could only harm his favourite Potter, especially since he had no idea what would happen.

Funny, how some things he _hadn't_ forgotten about. Like protecting James.

"Okay," he said. "Go ahead."

Dumbledore drew his wand and Mr. P prompted Sirius to do the same.

"Pay attention, Sirius. This is how you draw memories from your head."

.

* * *

The clock struck seven; Sirius only noticed then that it was light out and that he was very tired.

"Maybe we should stop. Continue this in the evening?"

"No," Sirius answered, scrunching up his mind to provide that elusive memory he was hunting for. "I'm all right. It's just… hard to find." In the end he did, pulling at what felt like cold snot protruding from his temple.

He had pulled out many memory strands from his mostly unhelpful head during the night, in between a dozen or so unplanned naps. Even now, he could see a score of wisps floating around in uncle Alfie's Pensieve like so many ghosts. Some, were big and twisted, others, mere little scraps of something white, which looked ragged to him even from here.

None came close to what he'd just gotten a hold of. _This,_ looked like an anchor rope for a transatlantic cruiser in comparison.

It had been the most elusive so far, and to Sirius it felt it had a shadow of blackness woven throughout it, but if either Dumbledore or Mr. P noticed, they kept quiet about it.

Sirius' brain felt like it was liquefying as he tugged the memory out — it wouldn't give — but he was confident that he had finally found it.

Sometimes, trying to pull out a thought he actually remembered had been hard — like the Muggle girl's death — but trying to pull out something he didn't, couldn't, or _wouldn't_ recall was way worse. He had bits and pieces to go on by, such as Voldemort's red eyes boring into his, so he did the natural thing and clustered every time Voldemort or his Death Eaters had been in front of him into the last strand.

There was a hollow _pop_ as he guided the memory out of his head and into the silver basin, and then, just like that, it was yanked out like a trout and filled the Pensieve to the brim.

"I think that's all of them, sir."

"How are you feeling, Sirius?"

"Better. Lighter, dunno. Like I can think again." He looked straight into Dumbledore's eyes, which were no longer shining like annoying blue beacons of joy. The Headmaster seemed concerned, but he looked right back at him. "You're sure you won't look? Not even if they're just sitting _there_ , all tempting like?"

"I promised you I would not, did I not? Don't worry, my boy, I'll resist the temptation. Coop will go with you as agreed. I'll just be here to pull you out if it is too much to bear."

"Thanks, sir."

"You can thank me if and when this helps," the Headmaster replied, casting a spell to arrange the memories chronologically. There was much swirling and even some splashing, but after the jumble seemed to have been organised.

While he waited, and feeling much more lucid than ever before, Sirius stretched his mind towards James. There was something he had just remembered, something that couldn't wait, and without the many old memories cluttering up his thinking cap, Sirius found it easy, even natural, to reach out to James and tackle a subject he kept forgetting and and shouldn't.

_Tell them, Prongs. Don't do this to them_.

"Ready?" Mr. P gave him an encouraging nudge a few moments later, which ended the argument with James before it had even properly started. Sirius shook his head, shutting himself off completely once more.

"No, Mr. P. But then, I don't think I'll ever be, so… shall we?"

They dipped their fingers into the swirling mist together.

.

* * *

.

"Are you coming to breakfast, Casanova?" Remus called into the half-opened bathroom door. "Or are you okay living off the scented mists of romance?"

"Gimme a sec!" James called back, only grateful for Remus' less-than depressed words for an instant; he had had a very short night, on account of utter astonishment (Lily hadn't hexed him _once_ and they were apparently friendly with each other now); worry (over Sirius' state and matters surrounding his return); so he was very tired, and wondering if he could get away with skivving Herbology was taking up most of his attention.

That would probably help, _and_ earn him today's detention without expending too much energy.

However, he mused as he dried himself off after slamming the door shut in Remus' grinning face, he'd probably expended all of his good luck already, what with not getting expelled, or hexed by Lily last night.

Still.

Dumbledore had been nothing if not clear about the next steps James had to take, and those required a sort of focus he lacked right now.

Two grinning faces waited for him, sitting on Remus' bed — the only one that had been made — and he didn't miss how the grin actually reached their eyes this time.

They had finally remembered how to smile again.

Of course, it was short-lived, and James felt a pang.

_Tell them, Prongs. Don't do this to them_.

James gave a small jump at that. He hadn't heard Sirius' voice in his head, not on purpose at least, since he had drawn the Death Eaters to him after Christmas. And Sirius was being nothing if not firm.

_What if they get hurt out of it? Or you?_ James shot back in his mind, retrieving his book bag.

_We will deal with it._ Tell _them or I'll find a way to._

_But Dumbledore said—_

_Tell them, James, what would_ you _feel if the tables were turned? Dumbledore's an arse if he thinks not telling them is a good idea._

And he was gone, completely gone all of a sudden, leaving James to worry about it and wonder how it was that Sirius could be so quiet in the flesh, but so forceful from hundreds of miles away.

Maybe it was _because_ he was hundreds of miles away, James thought, then dismissed it at once. Sirius would have told them as soon as he could, whereas James had been back for ten days now, and still _hadn't_.

He tried to keep a bit of an upbeat tone as he went to the Great Hall for breakfast, weathering the banter at his expense (which had been absent from the Marauders' repertoire for so long, that it felt almost alien) and trying to figure out what the best course of action might be.

"Are you sitting with us or your date?" Peter asked, making James snort.

"She didn't hex me last night, that does not make us anything."

"Ah, James and Evans sitting by the fire…" Remus smiled obnoxiously.

"Hanging from a fellytone wire!" Pete pitched in, and even James couldn't help it; he laughed.

They found their usual spots at the table, but the instant they sat down, their good mood took a hike; the seat next to Moony was, after all, still unoccupied, and that reminder always ruined their moods.

And then the paper arrived.

It fell on James' head, startling him from picking at his food. He scanned the headline and made up his mind instantly:

_Wednesday, January 21, 1976_

_POTTER SPEAKS UP ABOUT BLACK_

Yes. Potter _should_ speak up about Black.

"What's news?" Remus asked, picking at his full English, which he clearly wasn't in the mood for at all. Even Pete was staring at his porridge as though wondering what to do with it.

"Come on, let's get away from here," James responded.

Already people were reading, clustering around those who got the paper, and the buzz of he Hall intensified tenfold. So did the stares and glances thrown James' way. "There's something I need to tell you both."

He led them into the passageway underneath the boar statue and to an unused classroom on the fifth floor, which was conveniently far away from everyone.

"What is it?" Remus asked, worry etched across his face. Peter looked like he might burst into tears at any moment, and James heaved an enormous, defeated sigh.

"I'm sorry," he said earnestly. There was a chance, one he had ignored but which Sirius _hadn't_ , that he might lose their trust over this. This outcome was suddenly looming overhead like a rain cloud.

It made James realise that _this_ might be a part of why Sirius wasn't better off; why none of them were remotely all right, when by all rights, they should all be relieved that Sirius was alive, celebrating his survival, helping him get better. Together.

He finally realised that _nothing_ was okay unless they _all_ were.

_Finally he gets it._ James wasn't sure if that was Sirius, in his head again, or if his conscience had somehow acquired Sirius' voice again, even after he'd told it to sound like Evans.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "There's something I've got to tell you, and—" he closed his eyes, feeling bone-weary all of a sudden, "and all I ask you is to hear me out, even if you probably won't want to. After… it'll all be up to you."

Another realisation hit: he was _this_ miserable _because_ he hadn't told them. Somehow, it made everything worse still.

"What are you on about?" Pete asked, entirely too confused to be allowed.

"James, _what's wrong_?"

"Lots of things," James answered redundantly. "And I'm sorry, and it's all so bloody _wrong,_ and frustrating and _gah._ I just can't _do_ this anymore."

"Do what?" they chorused; James heaved another sigh, ruffled his hair, adjusted his glasses… but he couldn't find the words he needed to speak most of all, the very words he had been clinging to like a lifeline since Sirius had disappeared.

"This, all of this." He gestured with the paper around himself for an explanation. He took a deep breath, forced himself to meet his friends' concerned gaze, to speak words he should have, ages ago.

"Sirius isn't dead."

He flopped down on the floor, letting the Prophet fall next to him. None of the boys paid it any mind, but it read:

_Wednesday, January 21, 1976_

_POTTER SPEAKS UP ABOUT BLACK_

_One month after the disappearance of Sirius Black (16, the eldest son of Orion Black, who was a Senior Mugwump of the Wizengamot until his death late last year) was first reported, sending a shockwave of dismay throughout our community, Fleamont Copernillius Potter has finally come forward to make a statement regarding Sirius Black and the circumstances of his death, which have sparked such controversy._

_Most of the information we have received is contradictory, ranging from young Black being abducted by the Dark Lord, to rumours of his alleged murder of one Muggle girl in Penarth, Wales, mere moments before the now famous Battle of Boxing Day, where he was witnessed as being present by the inhabitants of Godric's Hollow._

_"He didn't kill anyone, nor would he ever do so," was Potter's first comment. "He fought against the Dark Side all his life, any idiot with eyes on his head could tell he was worlds different from the other Blacks who serve (He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named)." F. Potter was very vocal about the matter. He told this reporter that Sirius was being hunted by the Death Eaters, due to his refusal, under torture, to deliver the Potters to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, who knew that Black and James Potter attended school together and were best friends._

_"People are calling him a Death Eater and a murderer, when they should be hailing him a hero. The boy arrived at Godric's Hall badly injured, after fighting off over thirty Death Eaters on the crest of Godric's Hill, thus giving the Hollow a fighting chance. The Dark Side wanted him to break our defences and deliver us to (He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named), and he managed to evade them, and warn us, and fight them off long enough for us to make a stand."_

_The Potters, a respected and well-known family who have been a fixture of Godric's Hollow for over two thousand years, gave Sirius a broomstick to help him escape the onslaught of Death Eaters in pursuit. He was, so Potter stated, adamant not to stay even after they offered to shelter him; he was trying to reach the safe haven of Hogwarts, but was hit by a spell and fell, possibly somewhere in the wilderness of Snowdonia that surrounds the Hollow._

_"We saw him go down. We haven't yet found his body, but we are certain he wasn't captured, and that he was not a murderer. His only crime was that he was a loyal friend and made a stand against the Dark, as should we all."_

_F. Potter claims he spoke to Sirius Black before he aided him in his escape, and that the Gryffindor told him the Muggle girl had tried to help him escape the Death Eaters and had been killed by Rodolphus Lestrange, 20, who has been known to associate with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and is presently wanted for over five counts of murder. Lestrange was seen in the Battle of Boxing Day, and witnesses placed him in Penarth at the time of the murder of the Muggle; F. Potter was adamant in defending the young Black, who "should be honoured rather than reviled by prejudice and ignorance, and should not be allowed to die with a reputation that is less than what he deserves. He saved my family's lives, and for that we are eternally grateful."_

_Indeed, many have spoken out_ against _Black, most surprisingly his own mother and cousins, who have labelled him as "reckless and out of control," thereby sparking many speculations as to his allegiances and actions._

_However, at least the inhabitants of Godric's Hollow are certain that Black was not a supporter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. In a survey, 80% of the village (and three Aurors) witnessed his battle against the forces of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named from afar, and are convinced that he was holding them off rather than aiding them._

_This sheds new light on the inquiry being conducted by the DMLE, regarding the events of the twenty-sixth of December, and might well signify a posthumous exoneration of, and possibly an Order of Merlin for the late sixteen-year-old Hogwarts student._

* * *

Shock met James' words.

He hadn't thought his friends' reaction would be any different, but it was still horrible. The silence was heavy on James' mind, only broken by Remus' watch, which was chiming its reminder to go to Herbology. It was ignored by all three boys.

" _What_?" Remus found his voice first. Barely. His expression was still shocked, but it was starting to morph into something else; something that made James feel as though he'd kicked a puppy. Next to him, Peter was staring at James disbelievingly, his face flushing pink. James couldn't bear it; he looked down.

"He _isn't_ dead. This is… a ruse to keep the Death Eaters off his back."

"He's…"

" _Merlin_ …"

" _Alive_?"

"You sure?"

"He _is_ alive. Barely, but. Alive." The admission didn't make James feel better, because…

"You _lied to us?!_ " Peter had found his voice after another long, horribly painful silence. James looked at him for a moment, then he nodded. " _Why?_ "

"Because," he answered, "because we couldn't risk word getting out that he was alive. He _was dying_ , Pete, and the Death Eaters were watching our every move. He wouldn't have survived if they'd gone for him, and—" he swallowed dryly; all these reasons had seemed so foolproof, so sound before, Sirius' own protests trivial. Now, James _knew_ these reasons weren't sound or reasonable at all. "And the Ministry is doing that inquiry too, about the Muggle girl who got killed. We _had_ to hide him, from _everyone_ , not just you."

"How?" Remus was so confused. "How did you fake his death?"

"It wasn't hard," James said quietly. "He was… so close to it that it was easy to erase anything they could use to track him. I made this figure that looked like him and sent it to sink into the North Sea, with this tracker thing they'd put on him. Then that night, I sent another the other way, it got blasted by a Death Eater. People think they _saw_ him die."

"Who else knows?"

"Poops. She's been healing him. And Dumbledore. It was his idea to fake Sirius' death, to let him get better and avoid the Ministry, because they'd send him to Azkaban, over the Muggle thing." Remus and Pete hissed. "Yeah. When Sirius is healed, he'll come back and we'll hopefully have his defence ready… And, well, now you know."

Another silence stretched, during which James allowed the guilt to gnaw at him mercilessly.

"So all those detentions…?"

_Gah, Remus_ …

"They're so I can… so I can go see him."

" _WHAT_?!"

"You've _seen_ him." Remus' voice was ice on frozen ground, whereas Pete was shouting, beside himself with anger and grief.

"Almost every day," James admitted hollowly. He'd been so selfish. So _stupid_. "He's at my house. He wanted me to tell you everything as soon as I got back."

"You _should've_ , Prongs, damn you."

"I'm _sorry_."

"Why didn't you _tell us_?" Now Pete, too, was sobbing. James wanted to join in, but managed to hold back the waterworks.

"Because… Dumbledore told me not to." But that wasn't the only reason, now was it? He had agreed to it, mainly for another reason… "And because I was afraid you'd —"

"You think _I can't keep a secret_? That _neither of us can_?" Peter was angrier and more hurt than James had ever seen him. He shrank away before the smaller boy. To be honest though, what else did he _expect_?

"I didn't know what to think. Dumbledore gave me all these reasons, all these conditions and plans, and Sirius was so bad off… He still is, and I'm sorry. I'm so… _so_ sorry. I should've… But I didn't, and I'm sorry."

"I want to see him," Remus growled. "We both do."

"Yes. But first, we want to know what happened." Peter's face was still red, his blue eyes contrasting starkly against the cherry background, and his voice was shaking with suppressed tears.

They were _hurt_ , and every day James had told himself he would face their anger, had convinced himself they'd be so happy to see Sirius alive and better, that they'd forget to be mad at him, that they'd see Dumbledore's plan as a genius ruse and things would magically right themselves.

But it _wouldn't_ be that way, because they weren't just friends. They were Marauders, they'd stick together forever. James had realised what a huge mistake he'd made, and their reactions… They were worse than he imagined, even if they weren't throwing things. Yet.

" _All of it_ , Potter."

"Yes. Yes, I'm getting there, Pete. Well, you already know how his mother called him home for the Yule…"

James told them everything he knew.

They had known about his and Sirius' blood brotherhood for ages, so it was easier, and harder both. They understood more than anyone, but it was also harder to tell them some things. It meant owning up to more mistakes.

James now deeply understood what his Mum had said last night, about consequences.

"Wait, so you thought the kid outside your house's wards was _him_?"

"Yeah, I was asleep, and I completely forgot he'd warned us of the Poly—"

And they kept interrupting.

"How could you be so dense?"

"I don't know. But. You'd have thought the same. He was all beaten up and looked exactly like the last I'd seen of him. I rushed out to get him, I kept getting flashes of Sirius, the real one, and I thought it was all coming from the fake… it was a trap."

" _Obviously_."

"Yeah. Well. It _didn't_ seem obvious at the time. Sirius, the real one, warned me before it was too late."

"How?"

"He put himself in danger," James told them, contritely. "If the danger is real and… like, mortal danger, it's like… I can't quite explain it, it's like being _there_ , seeing though the other's eyes."

"What happened next?"

"Well, I realised it must be polyjuice potion, and I could warn my parents. I punched the Death Eater on the nose, but about twenty others showed up right after."

"Like at Frank's."

They were quiet for a while, and James couldn't help but remember when Frank Longbottom's family had been targeted. It had been something like that then too.

Or not quite; Frank _hadn't_ been foolish enough to fall into the trap, had he. _He_ hadn't caused Sirius to expose himself to the Death Eaters, or nearly die, _even_ after Sirius had already risked life and limb to send him a warning days earlier.

James felt terrible, more in the mood to curl up some place dark and quiet for the rest of his miserable life. But he owed them all the answers he could give, and so much more besides.

"So where _was_ he?"

"He says he can't remember. But I got flashes of that Muggle girl dying a little later, so… I think maybe he was in Penarth."

"Did he—" Pete cut himself off before he finished wording the question. James was staring at him like he was a blockhead.

" _No, Pete_. What the _hell_. Lestrange killed her." He took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sorry. It just… It rubs wrong. She stopped to help Sirius, and got killed right in front of him. It's hit him hard." _And me as well, as I have to keep seeing it whenever Sirius does. That's_ _ **one**_ _thing he can't forget._

"How did he get to Godric's Hall then?" Remus' impatience was contagious, and James couldn't get to the point fast enough, his friends hanging on to every word. They seemed to be hooked on the story, despite themselves.

"I'm not sure. Maybe a Death Eater took him there, to use him to get to us… He said… they were trying to kill my parents and take me. But he… he was…" James sighed, shook his head. "When he was in Penarth he fought them, and they followed him, all the way to Godric's Hollow. He was…" James swallowed. He'd never told this to anyone. "He was trying to… Merlin, I don't know but it was _frightening_. He was getting killed, and it's like he didn't care. He took them all on, and there were so many of them, _too_ many. Like thirty, or more. I went to help him, and, gods, he was so _mad_ at me."

Remus and Peter snorted, but James didn't. He had seen it first hand, had had to all but bully an oath from Sirius to get him to cooperate and desist from his attempts of dying by Death Eater.

"He blasted the entire hilltop, he somehow redirected all their spells to hit each other. We both got sent flying in the avalanche, and then for a few minutes I thought he'd stayed uphill, with them, but… he landed a bit further down, he was completely buried in the snow."

"How'd you find him?"

"The… growing red patch. He was … not good. There wasn't one bit of him that wasn't bleeding." James stopped for a moment, collecting himself. He had told his parents what had happened on Godric's Hill, but this…This was worlds different. With his friends there, James relived the experience at last, could admit to himself he had been trying his damnedest not to think about what he had been through, but now… it was finally sinking in, and it too, was painful.

[Remus' watch chimed: the Marauders had now officially missed Double Herbology. None of them cared.]

"I tried to take him home, and he… he _headbutted_ me. That's how I know most of what happened, but I was out for the count there, for a while. The git threw my cloak over me and went to face down Bellatrix."

"He _what_?"

"Um. We can pass big chunks of information with a headbutt," James answered Pete's question. "But the recipient is usually a bit out of it for a few minutes."

"That's how you do it?" Remus whistled through his teeth. "I _knew_ you couldn't read faster than me."

" _Nobody_ reads faster than you do," James countered. "Usually we split the reading between us and then exchange the info."

"You two are a pair of cheats."

"You're just jealous because we came up with an ineffably efficient studying method."

"Oi. What happened with Bellatrix?" Pete ended the incipient argument.

"Right, her. She wanted to know where I was. Wanted to make Sirius tell her. He wouldn't have been able to do anything, I had his wand and he could barely stand… But he was needling her, you know how he drives her batty every time he can."

"Yeah."

"We've seen." Remus let out a slow breath. "Did she..?"

"No, _gods, no_. I managed to get him out of there before she could do much more than yell at him. I turned him into his furry self and took him home, and my parents helped with the Trace thing his parents had put on him. Dad knew how to take it out, but… it was horrible."

_And please, don't ask for more details about_ _**that** _ _._

"He was out cold after, and we thought… we thought he'd …" James shuddered despite himself, and he was surprised when Remus reached out and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Even when Poops got there, a few times he wasn't even breathing, and he kept looking worse, not better."

"When did he wake up?"

"New Year's Eve, a few minutes to midnight."

"Right on time for the fireworks."

"Yeah. They scared the crap out of us both."

They chuckled.

"What did you do all that time? You weren't taking our calls or anything."

"I couldn't. Dad had us sealed off, and then he got together with the mayor. We had to plan defences and booby trap the village, and look after Sirius. There were other attacks on the Hollow over the next two days."

"On you?"

James nodded heavily.

"Two. I'm just glad he slept through _those_. But at the time I was having kittens. I thought he wouldn't, y'know. Wake up." He sighed again, ruffled his hair. "He slept through the MLE combing our house for him, too. And then when he finally did wake up, it was _nothing_ like he used to be. It still isn't."

"How so?"

"I can't put a finger on it," James said quietly. "He didn't even recognise us at first. Kept forgetting where he was, we had to remind him of the tiniest things… It was like repeating the same record for ages."

"Does he still do that?"

"Yeah, sometimes. Especially when he's been sleeping deeply or passed out." He couldn't miss his friends' frowns, so he elaborated. "You'll be talking to him, and suddenly he'll just… keel over. Even if he's in the middle of saying something. And when he wakes up, you'll have to convince him all over again that there aren't any Death Eaters, that he wasn't captured, and he'll have forgotten most of everything you talked about for the last week. It doesn't happen as often now, at least not to me, but Poops says it's because he got too many whacks to the head, too many curses… and his mind just can't cope, his body either. She's had to heal him bit by bit but even that is too much sometimes. That's why he isn't getting better as he should."

[A while later, Remus' watch reminded them that they were now missing Charms. The Marauders were doing something more important, though.]

They'd called a House Elf over, to bring them snacks and drinks, but they didn't even think of leaving the classroom; there was still loads to be discussed.

"So… all those potions you had me brew?"

"They were for him, yeah."

"Even the Dark Exudation one?" Pete's voice was tiny.

" _Especially_ that one."

"Did it work?"

"Yeah, it did. Every time. They all did, Pete. You're a lifesaver. Thank you."

"What's that one do?" Remus hated potions, as a rule. It was his worst subject.

"It extracts dark magic from the body."

"Oh."

"It's supposed to make the drinker sweat all darkness out."

"Yeah, it looked like he was producing ink."

"But why did he need _twelve bottles_?"

"There was a _lot_ of ink."

[Yet later, Remus' watch sounded cranky as it announced that they were missing History of Magic, and were doomed to remain ignorant their entire lives.]

"He'll get better, though, right?"

"I hope so. He's been managing a little better, staying awake for a bit longer, that sort. Yesterday he got up for the first time. Mum said he's been keeping his meals down too, but... It took me ages to get him to acknowledge _Quidditch_ of all things."

"No _way_."

"Way. But that wasn't as bad as reminding him who McGonagall even _is_."

"But she loves him!"

"He forgot she existed, along with almost everyone else. And the castle. _And_ Dumbledore still has to introduce himself every time he visits, too. He only recognises Mum on the first go."

"Did he forget us, too?"

"No, Moony. Well, he immediately thinks of you two every time he recognises who I am. He's been asking for you both, for ages. Sometimes even when he's asleep."

"Then _why_ —"

"Dumbledore forbade it. He reminds me of that every day, that I'm not supposed to tell you two, _or else_." James hung his head.

Consequences, he realised, _sucked_.

"Or else what?"

"Or else," came the defeated answer, "I'll be forbidden from seeing him again too." _And he needs me there._

[An hour later, Remus' ever-so-helpful watch announced at the top of its voice, that now they were missing lunch… and that it served them _right_.

The Marauders were having an all-out, however, so they ignored it again.]

"Damn you, Potter. We're your best friends! We could be helping him right now!"

"I know! I'm _sorry_ , all right? I really am!"

"Were you even _going_ to tell us, or was it just because Sirius asked you to?"

"I wanted to tell you, dammit! I just didn't know what to do!"

[Later still, Remus' watch warned them, in no uncertain terms, that they were late for Transfiguration and that it would personally accuse them of skivving unless they stopped insulting each other and went to class. Needless to say, it went ignored once more.]

"You're the biggest oaf I've ever met!"

"I'm sorry."

"Git!"

"Wanker!"

"I'm sorry, I really am."

"Ponce!"

"Twat!"

" _I'm sorry_!"

"We'd have been there, for him _and_ for you, you… you bloody… _wanker_!"

Remus snorted.

A moment later, so did Pete.

"Sorry, Moony. I'm running out of insults."

"That's the fifth time you've called him a wanker, though."

"Doesn't make it any less true."

"It _is_ a bit liberating, though, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's actually kind of nice."

"Do you think we can do this all year long? Maybe even make it a House sport, insult James Potter for ten Sickles."

"Har har har."

"If we charge for it, it's not a sport… it's a business."

"Something good would come out of this, at least."

[Remus' watch said it was time for their first hour of Double Potions, and if it went ignored one more time, it would go on strike. Then it began making tiny protest signs. The first one read: JUST, UGH.]

"Did he tell you why he ran away from home in the first place?"

"A little. He doesn't talk much."

"About that or something else?"

"About _anything_ , Moony. It's like he's always miles away, and I keep trying to pull him back, y'know, but it never lasts."

[Remus' watch reminded them that they could still make it into the second period of Double Potions if they hurried, but if they wanted to know the time, they'd have to talk to the union spokeswatch to settle the terms.]

"My parents adopted him, you know."

"Really?"

"My Dad went to see his mum on Tuesday. She screamed for the entire Ministry to hear that she'd disowned him, that he was dead to her, that the vultures could have him if he was ever found. So Dad went and filed for adoption, just in case. He said the clerk witch started crying. He told her it was just in case they found a body, so he could be buried in our patch in the Hollow."

"What did Sirius say?"

"He doesn't know it yet."

"Isn't that good news, though?"

"I don't know. I think it is, or it should be. But he's… different." James heaved a sigh, realising how dry his mouth was. "You'll see when we go visit him."

"We _will_?"

"When?"

"Before Dumbledore seals the Floo off again… so, _now_ would be good. What's the time, Remus?"

"It's — _Er_."

.

* * *

TBC

R&R and stuff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: The Marauders maraud (is that even a word?), McGonagall gets a new ball of string, Voldemort sorts out his following, Narcissa gets a job she doesn't want, and Sirius… well, you'll see. He drools a lot when he's asleep, part dog and all. But Coop, on the other hand, proves why he's James Potter's awesome and much-loved crazy-haired dad.


	9. The Ugly Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Coop and Sirius have a not-so-excellent adventure, Voldemort uses his day off to get some groceries, the Marauders maraud, Dumbledore is thrown for a loop, and McGoogles gets a ball of string. Totally not in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Does anyone bother reading this at all? We KNOW we don't own anything, duh. Except for the original bits, which we share in the spirit of reading free fun stuff when we should be working or at school (yes, I'm talking to you kid, I know you're not doing homework, and I'm strangely comfortable with that. I put the pro in procrastination and so do you).  
> Notes: [Warnings:] The Sirius bits are rather graphic, and I unleashed my inner nastyevil and said sod it all, I won't, so I didn't, cut, like any of it. Such things happen when I imagine Voldemort having a hand in raising a kid. So. If you don't want to read gory stuff, skip 'em and just read the bits where something more PG happens. However, you've read up to this point, so I think you're pretty much unshockable anyway, but! For disclaimer's sake, I have to say: it's mostly sad and ugly; you've been warned. [/Warnings]

* * *

**Part Nine: The Ugly Truth**

* * *

.

"What is this place?" Mr. P asked, looking around.

"My father's library." Sirius answered. By the tone of his voice and his suddenly drawn expression, Coop assumed it wasn't a good place to be. However, _nothing_ was going on; they were alone in a lavishly furnished, elegant library, in what seemed to be a bright summer morning. The sun was shining through a stained glass window, and its light shimmered different colours as the Black coat of arms moved along the surface. Coop recognised the Wand from the Deathly Hallows, the Sirius star, and the Black Shuck dogs the Blacks had kept as pets thousands of years prior. It looked like the dogs were wrestling each other for the wand, yipping soundlessly at the star.

"Do you know _when_ we are?" He asked keenly, looking out the window and into a large back garden.

"No." Sirius' tone was hushed. _He_ wasn't looking at the frolicking stained glass figures; his eyes were on the heavy library doors. Coop was wondering what sort of memory this was, and was about to ask Sirius that very thing, when laughter could be heard from outside, filling the room… and Sirius seemed to remember. "Yes. No. _Gah_ , I don't know."

He had gone very pale, and shrank back against one of the book cases when the door opened.

"Oh dear friend," Voldemort was saying genially, walking into the library with Orion, "you do have the _best_ stories to tell."

Orion Black looked imposing as ever, entering the room with the trademark Black Sweeping Elegance(TM) and peering outside into the hallway before he shut the door. He didn't look happy with the world, Coop noted. But then, neither did Sirius. He was still pressed against the book case.

Coop turned to him, giving his shoulder a squeeze. Sirius flinched, but locked eyes with him.

"They can't hurt you, lad." Coop said reassuringly. "It's just a mem—"

"Yeah, it's a memory, I know; but I've remembered it now, can we just _please_ go?" Sirius was speaking fast, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. " _Please_ , Mr. P?"

If Coop had known how rare it was to hear Sirius beg for _anything_ , or even allow himself to show he was scared, he'd have taken them to the next memory at once. Or better yet, out of the Pensieve altogether. But he _didn't_ know, so he didn't move; he'd later regret it, but as of yet… he simply had no idea what he'd walked into.

"Wait a moment." Coop was staring at Voldemort, who didn't quite look as he had been described by Sirius. His eyes were blue, his face was handsome, and he had a certain charm that shadowed even Orion's own natural grace as he took a seat on one of the leather settees at the far end of the library, a brandy in hand.

Orion was gone.

No, wait—

There he was, in a side chamber behind a book case. Coop followed, and gasped.

Sirius couldn't have been older than six, around the time he met the Potters, but this was very different from the hyperactive boy who had become his son's best friend even then. He was a beautiful child, but right now Coop was staring at a tear-streaked, pale little face, out of which two silver orbs were focused on his unyielding, towering father, silently pleading.

For what, Coop never found out.

Orion was pulling him out of a dark basement, and Sirius looked dishevelled and exhausted. He yanked the boy to his feet — they were bare — and regarded him as though he were a heap of dog droppings he had nearly stepped on and had to clean. This look, which Coop immediately dubbed Orion's 'dogshit face', would morph into worse of a grimace of disgust further down the line. It was, Coop later noted, the only visible evolution of their relationship.

"Blacks _don't cry_!" Orion hissed, and the boy blinked, trying to hold back his tears at once. "So stop that this instant. You look weak, and _you_ , you are _not_ _allowed_ to be weak. You are a _Black_ , and being a Black means being strong."

"It— it was d-dark in there, Father. And, and cold. And—"

" _And_ you'll stay there for another week if I hear _one_ more whinge from you." Orion waved his wand, and the boy was perfectly clean at once. "Come, Sirius. There's someone you must meet."

"Is it that _man_ again?" Young Sirius' tone was steady as his father had instructed, but Coop _knew_ this boy. He was terrified.

"Yes. His name is Mr. Riddle, and he wishes to see you once more, for some unfathomable reason."

"He's …" Sirius hunted for a word, settled for, "mean."

"So he is. And he is an ally to us Blacks, so you _shall_ respect him." Orion's look held a warning the small boy couldn't ignore. " _Come_ , Sirius. Our guest has waited long enough."

"No."

" _What_?"

"No. Father. I shan't go. I don't like that riddle man."

"Obey."

"I don't want to."

"I said — _obey_!" Coop gave a small jump. Orion hadn't raised his voice, but it made you wish he had shouted. This was Black authority at its finest, a tone designed and honed over the years to command all those other, lesser people.

Little Sirius planted his feet on the plush carpet, however, and levelled a mulish look at his father that Coop had seen before. Orion's dogshit look became sour.

"I shan't. I'd… rather go back in the hole now."

"What is your _problem_?"

"I…" Sirius struggled to explain, but being just six, he couldn't find the words. "I… _don't_ like him. He's bad."

In the main library, there was movement. Voldemort was suddenly leaning against the doorframe, watching Sirius and his father with hungry, cold eyes.

"You will come with me. _Now_." Orion's tone almost made _Coop_ obey, but Sirius didn't budge. His eyes were flashing out the dare before he voiced it.

"Make me, then."

Orion seemed taken aback. Behind him, Voldemort chuckled.

"He did the same thing last week when I took him muggle-baiting with the Malfoys," Orion said, frustration evident in every word. "He is nothing but a stubborn fool, and shall _this_ be my legacy? My _heir_?" He even _sounded_ like the words tasted badly in his mouth.

"Oh, I don't know, Orion. Perhaps he only needs a firmer hand. May I?"

"Be my guest. At this point I'd love to drown him in the well like the cur he is, put more of my focus on Regulus."

"Ah, _parenthood_ … if I ever do leave descendants, I can only wish they were as your sons, Orion."

"Stubborn?" Orion asked dryly.

"Headstrong. Firm in what they want. Brimming with sheer, raw _power_."

"Oh he is _that_ , and more besides."

"I'd love to hear all about it, but outside," Voldemort said. "Come with us, Sirius. Follow me."

"No. I'll never follow you _anywhere_." Coop sucked in a breath. Voldemort turned around leisurely.

"Be that way. _Crucio_."

The shrill screams that followed pierced much more than just Coop's ears.

Behind him, Sirius winced. He had slid to the floor.

"Can we go now?" He asked through barred teeth. "It… it goes on for a while."

"Sirius, what's wrong?" He was twitching. Behind them, the child's screams stopped, but Coop could still sense the curse going. The child, he noted, was twitching just like the older one was. It was just as though he could feel—

Wait.

_Feel_? Coops mouth suddenly felt dry as he knelt next to the lad.

"Do you _remember_ pain, Sirius?"

"Don't _you_?"

"Let's get you out of—" Coop started, but didn't get any further. Behind him, the six-year-old Sirius had started wailing.

"You see, Orion, this boy just needs a firm hand. I'm sure you don't want to risk going out in public with him, if he won't follow the simplest orders. _This_ consequence, however, he _will_ remember." There was a _thud_ ; the child stopped writhing and lay in a heap, shaking and crying; the curse had been lifted. "I find it is a rather good deterrent."

Beside Coop, Sirius straightened up at once. Coop had a hand on Sirius' shoulder, and he could feel him trembling slightly. The only thing that betrayed how he felt was a twitch in his right hand. "Sorry, Mr. P." He seemed deeply embarrassed, but as Coop saw it, there was nothing to warrant shame there. Horror, yes. Anger, at Orion, at Voldemort, sure. But Sirius was none of those things. He was ashamed, as though he had done something that deserved getting the dogshit look.

"Don't be, son. Not ever. Standing up to Voldemort, at that age… that was brave." And stupid, but when else should one be if not at age six? His father should have protected him, instead he all but egged that monster on to hurt him. "What was _that_ all about?"

"I never liked Voldemort, apparently." Sirius seemed more interested in processing Coop's words than dissecting what had just happened.

"No, I meant, what just happened to y—" Sobbing cut him off. Despite himself, Coop turned and looked back at the scene they'd come to watch.

"Shut up. Get up." Orion barked. If he was shaken by what had just happened, Coop couldn't see it past the dogshit look.

Sniffling, shaking, and furious, little Sirius struggled to stand up. He was glaring at the floor. Coop could see his right hand twitching, just like his older counterpart's.

"Now come along, we've wasted too much of our guest's time." Orion hadn't gone three paces when the boy spoke up.

" _Make_ me."

"Oh, for the love of— _Imperio_! Move, you useless _waste of space._ "

Sirius' eyes went from flashing to dull silver. An instant later, he walked placidly outside, a small skip to his step, so much like his father's.

"That's _one way_ to get things done," Voldemort quipped. Orion grunted, making even _that_ sound aristocratic.

"He's a hellion. Never obeys, constantly challenging everyone. If not for his mother's faith in him, I'd have long have gotten rid of him. _Especially_ after last week's little stunt; he wouldn't even kick that Muggle, because ' _he saw no reason to hurt that girl_ '." Orion said that last in a simpering tone, and Voldemort laughed.

"No, I _mean_ it," Orion chuckled in exasperation. "Right in front of old Crabbe and Lady Lestrange. I became a laughing stock because the boy is too soft to do what he must." He drained his brandy, shrugged dismissively (a gesture Coop recognised from Sirius). "I blame his mother."

"When you _do_ decide to rid yourself of him, you know where to find me. I'd _love_ to help set him on the right path."

Orion gave him a sideways glance.

"I'll talk to Walburga about it; if it were only up to me, you could take him _now_ and I would thank you for it." Orion fixed silvery grey eyes on his son. Coop saw no love in them; Orion was surveying the child as if he were an overpriced decoration he was considering throwing out. " _You,_ will forget what we spoke of here. And you will obey me next time. _And_ ," came almost as an afterthought, "you will _behave_ at your Aunt Elladora's garden party tomorrow."

"N-Yes, Father."

The memory dissolved, leaving Coop to wonder if he'd heard that last smidge of a rebellious tone or if he'd just imagined it. The only thing he knew for a fact, was that Sirius _had_ behaved at the party. Until he met James and the two had bonded three seconds later, over a purloined pudding they ate under the Blacks' table, or something else he couldn't recall.

"Sirius," Coop asked, as they were floating in what looked like a whirlwind made of floating memories, which flashed past around them. There were many, too many to count. "What _happened_ back there?"

"You honestly want me to explain, Mr. P?" Sirius asked in confusion, rubbing his hands as if he were cold. His expression clearly was still one of shame.

"It was a rethorical question."

"I… I don't rightly know, sir. I forgot all about this until it happened. Let's look at this one." Sirius poked another silvery strand, on which Coop could see another scene playing out.

The next few memories were dishearteningly similar to the first. Voldemort, it seemed, had visited an increasingly rebellious Sirius several times over the years, advising Orion and Walburga on what to do about the _education_ of their child.

And they were only too happy to educate the hell out of him.

Orion especially.

Coop was appalled at what he saw; for him, becoming a father had been the culmination of years yearning to hold his own child, and he and Betty admittedly spoiled James rotten and adored him, despite his flaws, or maybe all the more because of them. He could not fathom hurting him for any reason, much less to avoid ridicule or to get a point across.

Walburga, while she didn't seem as keen to punish Sirius as harshly as Orion did, didn't even seem to like _holding_ him, and he was _adorable_. She pushed him away, while she was more doting and loving to Regulus. Orion for his part, treated Sirius as a thing he owned, like a racehorse he wanted to win the steeplechase. He never once held his son, never said one kind word to him.

Why this was, dawned on Coop a little later, a scrap he remembered from ancient history.

It was ancient wizarding tradition at its worst: the firstborn was the heir to the House, and belonged to the father, to be groomed from the age of four to rule; the other children were seen as 'spares' and had a different, freer, more human (in this case, humane) upbringing. They belonged to the mother.

Coop had no idea anyone still reared their offspring that way, but Sirius was living proof of it.

As for Sirius, although he soon seemed exhausted, he appeared to have overcome his initial fright, though the shame would take some additional work. He watched some memories almost avidly, with something like grim satisfaction; every time his forgotten child self stood up against Voldemort, every time he spoke up against any kind of injustice — and there were many, from the fate of House Elves (Sirius was against beheading), to several instances of failed Muggle Baiting, and a horrible incident with Snuffles, the stray which he'd hidden in the back garden when he was about eight or nine (which was the one memory Sirius refused to even look at, retreating as far away as the memory allowed instead)— he seemed to stand a bit straighter, even if his child self lost many more battles than he won.

Thankfully, Orion seemed to have discontinued the use of the Cruciatus curse after that first encounter, relying instead on the Imperius and other kinds of (equally nasty) punishment whenever Sirius stepped out of the line drawn for him. The only thing that had evolved over the years was the dogshit look. By the time of the Snuffles incident, Orion looked as though he was forced to _hold_ a turd whenever he set his eyes on Sirius, no matter if the boy _was_ trying to please him.

Coop witnessed an abridged history of Sirius Black in those early memories, which told a tale that was volumes different from what he imagined and brought along the pangs of wishing he'd seen it sooner, had done something to help years ago instead of now.

Sirius had always struck him as a rebel without a cause; he was _not_ one. He tried his best to please his parents, in all aspects but one, which to them was essential. Sirius, Coop saw, adored his baby brother; his mother, though an ice queen compared to Betty, held him close once or twice, and the way Sirius' face lit up told Coop that the boy was trying his damnedest to be everything his parents expected from him. He loved them, whereas they did not.

His mother insisted on schooling him in French, German, Latin, and Greek; she taught him potions, spellwork even at a very young age (he got his wand at age seven, for his birthday, because the Regulations on Underage Wizardry were for the plebe, and Blacks were, of course, above such things), she drilled him in manners and wizarding etiquette, wizarding politics, the High Houses, and history of the Blacks.

His father demanded he learn Arithmancy and Alchemy, wanted him to cast advanced spells even before he went to Hogwarts, and Sirius worked hard at it, though Orion never once seemed pleased with his son. The dog turd sneer was the best he could do.

Sirius was a bright boy, and he soaked in the knowledge like a sponge. However, the Blacks were Dark Wizards, and Sirius seemed to instinctively sense (and have an allergy to) Dark Magic. No matter how they masked it, if it would hurt anyone in any way, with no clear reason as to why, Sirius refused to do it.

Every single time.

Except under Imperius, such as was proven in the Snuffles incident.

Not all memories were terrible, however; some showed Sirius playing with his small brother, some small early pranks, even holidays that weren't half bad. There had been laughter in the Black family, and though they by no means spoiled their eldest, it hadn't been entirely bad.

And then there was James.

Bits and pieces only, of long-forgotten play dates where Alfie would whisk Sirius away from London, and going to the Potters was clearly the most longed-for treat in the world. That Alphard had sometimes unwittingly barged in on Voldemort's "education" sessions, Coop hadn't been able to tell back then.

Sirius picked memories in the swirling mist seemingly at random, poking two or three at a time when the scraps were small; he refused to leave the Pensieve, however. He was learning as much about himself as Coop was.

Suddenly, after the Snuffles incident (which, Coop sensed, had been a turning point in Sirius' worldview and marked the moment when he excised himself from his family), Coop found that they were at the infamous Elladora's garden party as Sirius recalled it — full of smells of food; presents he could feel humming with magic when he shook them curiously; the way everything seemed brighter, sharper, after he'd met James; the warmth of the sun at Fortescue's in the afternoon, when Coop and Betty had taken both children to Diagon Alley to unwind, before Walburga decided her offspring was too happy and in need of some punishment. Coop could even _taste_ the hot fudge Sundae Sirius was eating with relish. It was exactly as if he were _there_ , all of Sirius' memories had that effect.

Sirius had one _hell_ of a total recall, Coop knew now, and he worried for the forgetful boy who was now sitting on the ground next to him. He'd been memory charmed at least two dozen times by the time he was ready for wizarding school, and yet James had always claimed that he didn't need to study at all for his lessons.

"How is it that you remember all of this?" he asked Sirius, who seemed content just letting the memories yank him this way and that; Coop suspected he'd fallen asleep through some of them, too.

"What do you mean, Mr. P?"

"My memories in a Pensieve aren't as detailed as these. There are no senses other than sight and sound, but yours are _vivid_. It's like they're happening all over. I can even _taste_ your ice cream." And feel the hurt when things got nasty, he did not say.

"It _was_ good ice cream." Sirius replied with a smile as he watched himself and the tiny James start a food fight, full of laughter and childish squeals. "And we wore it well. Worth remembering."

"Yes. It's a good memory." Coop wondered why Sirius had brought them here, to when he was six again, but didn't ask.

"It changed everything." Sirius was watching himself and little James thoughtfully, reminding Coop of the quiet youth he'd become since his ordeal.

"Do you regret it?"

"No, Mr. P. Never." Sirius gave him a wan, earnest smile. "Not once."

"Even now, after all that has happened?"

" _Especially_ after all that."

The memory dissolved moments later… into an ugly one, as Coop had sensed it would. Sirius had needed a break, he understood that now. Perhaps a reminder of why he'd chosen this path for himself.

.

* * *

.

He had enjoyed the theatre very much; it was a rarity to get an evening out, and he had taken full advantage of being just himself, not Lord Voldemort but Tom Riddle, the heir of Slytherin who lived with one foot in one world and one in the other.

He had gone to Her Majesty's Theatre in the end, preferring something classical to the more intricate modern performances. And that Macbeth hadn't been half bad either.

After he'd gone to pick up some groceries, and strolled through old London, remembering the city as it was before the Blitz, and how it would change yet again, during his reign.

In the early hours of the morn, Voldemort smiled with self satisfaction as he arrived once more at his father's house.

It had been a good night's outing, full of art and comedy — he found Macbeth's struggles and death hilarious — and he had even stopped to pick up some food for Nagini. The Local fare had started to become suspicious.

"You, elf. I brought Nagini's food. Leave one here and take the other three downstairs into the larder."

"Yes, Dark Lord," the elf squeaked, scuttling away to obey. It dragged the three sacks across the room and out of sight because Voldemort liked to watch that part, even if the elf was tiny and the contents of the bags were already struggling and calling for help.

Nagini had always preferred fresh food.

Voldemort glanced towards The Room, as he had begun calling it in his mind.

The spells had held, although if he listened, he could still hear a low rumble coming from within, and yells and screams and laughter (Bella's, probably).

Voldemort sighed, wishing they'd get a move on. Then, he could be advancing his ploy to conquer the Wizarding World instead of killing time here.

He waved his wand, and the sack before him vanished, revealing a young man of about twenty, twenty-five years of age, who gasped and blinked and looked around the richly-furnished room he found himself in, in that very standard, very human, mix of confusion and dread and fear and _hope_ — to escape, to live, to be spared from whatever horrors the near future held — that was so very characteristic of mankind, whether wizard or muggle.

Nagini also liked her meals aware, hopeless and terrified.

While he'd relished going out for the night, Tom Riddle was back in his box, and Lord Voldemort had left it, impatient and calculating. There were things to be done, warlocks to frighten, officials to blackmail or bribe. A kingdom to conquer.

A hungry snake to feed.

' _Is that for me?'_ Nagini had slithered to his side and was giving her breakfast a hungry look.

' _Yes, I got you take away from London.'_

"What… what do you want?" The kid stammered at him, while trying to scramble to his feet.

"Oh, so many things," Voldemort answered lazily, sitting back on his sofa. "It's not easy, you know, balancing power and followers and fear. I am not a usurper, no… I am the true heir, the only son. But my enemies will always find something to delay me, something to undermine my efforts, you know?"

The young man was staring at him, mouth agape.

"No, you wouldn't, would you, living your little life scuttling this way and that, deaf, blind and unaware of what is going on around you. But there is, there is so much more that you don't see. So much more, and yet your kind seem content, even proud, of being nothing but pond scum that got lucky."

"I just want to go home," the young man pleaded.

"Home? What? You don't like mine?" Voldemort gestured around him, at the rich moving tapestries on the walls, the furniture that had come from castles and manors from around the world. "Ah, who am I trying to convince?" He regarded his prisoner, who would only be fit to feed his pet, with a mix of disgust and curiosity. Muggles were so… ordinary, and yet so different from one another. "All I want right now, little lucky pond scum, is your voice. _Crucio._ "

Fresh, hopeless, terrified. That was how Nagini liked her meals.

.

* * *

.

" _Gryffindor_!" Walburga shrieked at a stone-faced Sirius. He had to be about twelve, and the Christmas decorations told Coop where and when they were. "I knew you were useless, but to fall _that_ low?"

"What can I say? I realised I distinctly dislike green."

" _Imperio_!" It had to come, didn't it? "Take that back this instant, you waste of breath!"

"I take…" Sirius started, swaying on the spot. "I… _no_ , wait just a minute, _why should I_? I _like_ being in Gryffindor, Mother. There's no shame in that."

"No sh- I'll give you shame, you _blood-traitor_!"

"Yeah, well, maybe I like being a blood-traitor too."

The shriek that rent the air made them all flinch. At this, Sirius laughed out next to Coop.

"I can't believe I _forgot_ that. _Why_ did I ever, _ever_ forget _that_?"

"Orion…" Walburga's voice carried clearly up the stairs. "Call Tom. He can have him, for all I care."

"Who's Tom?" Sirius the child asked, confused, but it gave way to alarm as he spotted the wand aimed between his eyes. "Wait— Mum, what are you _doing_?!"

" _Crucio_!"

"Oh. Right. _That_." Sirius gritted out with a grimace. "That's probably why."

A few long agonised moments later, the memory Sirius was dragged to the library and tossed inside in a shaking heap. Moments later Voldemort appeared in the fireplace, grinning like a starving hyena at Orion, who in turn seemed beside himself with rage. The dogshit look had evolved as well: now Orion looked as if he had had to _eat_ the turd, not just hold it.

"Tom, thanks for coming on such short notice. Should you still want _it_ , you can have it, to do with as you please. We have no use for the likes of _that_ in this ancient and noble House."

"So, you're a little Lion, then? Hm?" Voldemort's eyes flickered red as he took a seat and accepted a brandy from Orion.

"He should be a little _corpse_ ," Orion stated acidly, "too bad they outlawed the killing of disappointing children in 1782. I'd already have his head mounted on the wall otherwise."

"Oh, Orion, he'll have his uses. And once he fulfills them, there'll be no finer specimen than him."

Orion snorted and took a large gulp from his own drink.

"We are talking about _that_ , right? He couldn't _even_ make Slytherin House and spare us the embarrassment of his existence a few years longer."

Voldemort was grinning toothily at Sirius, his red eyes flashing with greed. The child Sirius stared right back at him, still breathing heavily from a punishment that was apparently far from over.

"Tell me, are you still friends with the Potter boy?"

"What's it to you?" Sirius shot back, and Coop could see his hands were trembling, the right twitching uncontrollably. Otherwise he'd learnt his lessons well; he didn't flinch, or sniffle, or appear weak at all.

It was _nothing_ like the boy Coop had watched grow up with his son. The Potters' Sirius had been hyperactive, happy to a fault, always snapping his fingers at any hardship. He had seemed like an eternal optimist, with an unflagging good mood, no matter what. To him, Coop now realised, whatever problems were to be faced outside the Black family circle, didn't hold a candle to this private hell.

"A great deal, seeing as you are now mine."

"Yeah? Well, nobody asked _me_ , and _I_ refuse." Sirius crossed his arms in the most insolent manner he could contrive. It was enough to make Orion groan in frustration.

Voldemort clearly found him amusing.

"This is not for you to accept or refuse. You are _mine_ , mark my words, your father has made me a gift of you, and I _will_ make you great, greater than perhaps Slytherin himself."

"The snake bloke can kiss my pureblooded _arse_."

Now _that_ made Voldemort do a double take. He lost his amusement at once, and now he did resemble the Dark Lord Sirius had described a few days earlier. His wand was out, while the child Sirius clearly braced himself.

" _Cru_ —"

"And so can _you_ , while you're at it."

" _Crucio!_ "

"Dear Merlin, boy," Coop moaned as he helped Sirius sit on the library floor, while in the background Sirius the child was learning another lesson, apparently. One his older counterpart was recalling quite vividly. "Don't you _ever_ stop driving them to distraction?"

"Apparently not, Mr. P." Sirius gritted out. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise; I'm just… appalled."

"Why?" Sirius wasn't trying to tease, Coop realised upon looking at him in disbelief. He was _curious_.

"Because of _that_ —" he replied, half horrified, half incredulous. He had to raise his voice to be heard past the keening, broken wail that filled the room. Could it really be that Sirius _didn't know_? He gestured towards the scene, where Sirius the child was convulsing on the rug, lost for words to explain.

"Sirius, that is no way to treat a child! Can't you _see it_?"

"Doesn't everyone do that?" Sirius was confused, twitching where his child self was thrashing.

"Have you seen me or Betty _ever_ treat James remotely that way?"

"No, not once. The worst I've seen you do was give him a wedgie. And he was laughing all the time."

"Why do you think _that_ is?"

"Er." Sirius shook his head, as if to clear it. "I don't know."

"Orion, the Imperius, if you please."

" _Imperio_."

"Get up, you _scum_."

The child Sirius had finally staggered to his feet, but he was fighting the curse's hold. The older child Sirius watched the scene, biting his lip.

Coop did too, with concern.

"He's still friends with the Potter boy, isn't he?" Voldemort asked. Coop's blood ran cold.

"That blood-traitor scum? Yes," Orion replied nastily. "Why you have allowed, nay, _wanted_ that friendship to continue, I'll never know, Tom. The Potter boy is a terrible influence on him."

"It's simple, your son will bring the young Potter to me, when the time is right. By the way, it's not _Tom_ anymore," Voldemort answered placidly. "As of today, we are at war with all muggle-loving traitors. And my nom-de-guerre is _Lord Voldemort_."

Coop stared at the wizards. _What?!_

So did the child Sirius. He let out a laugh, then another, once more breaking the Imperius Curse.

"Lord _Voldemort_ ," he exclaimed, sounding almost hysterical, "that's the most _ridiculous_ name I've ever heard!"

"Shut up, child."

" _Make me_ ," Sirius shot back insolently. "Lord _flightofdeath_."

" _Crucio_! What _is_ it with this boy?"

"Don't look at me, Lord Voldemort. He's no longer mine, remember?" And was Orion _laughing_?

He _was_.

For the first time in years, Sirius had earned himself a smile from his father, and his reward was agony.

The child Sirius was laughing too, even though his teeth were gnashed hard together to keep from screaming out. As he thrashed this way and that, a pained chuckle escaped him.

"Now, as I was saying—"

"Lord … _Voldiepants_!" Sirius sounded crazed, but every time the curse stopped, he'd managed to think of another ridiculous name to call the self-styled Dark Lord.

" _Silencio_!" Voldemort roared. "Insufferable child!" The said insufferable child finally had the sense to lie still. Coop wanted to yell at him to run, run as fast as he could, and seek shelter at Godric's Hall. With a pang, he realised that this would not happen for another four years.

Voldemort knelt down next to the jerking heap that Sirius had become once again. He pulled Sirius' head up by his hair, giving him a toothy smile, and showed him a golden button Coop recognised at once; he had extracted the very same thing from Sirius' neck a month prior.

" _This_ is your Christmas present, Sirius. With it, I shall always know where you are, like a cur on a lead." Voldemort let Sirius' head fall with a thunk, not bothering to cast a spell to stick the pin containing the Tristram Trace into the back of his neck. The Silencing Charm held, but Sirius was thrashing in earnest now. "And with this," he added, pressing the boy's head down as he howled in silent agony, " _Selectum Obliviate_ … you shall not remember our encounters unless I _allow_ it. Now stand, Sirius Black, heir to the Second High House and my newest _pet_."

"Now wait just a _minute_ , Tom—"

"It's _Voldemort_ ," Sirius gritted out as he staggered to a very unsteady stand, fingering the back of his head and wiping tears and blood away with the back of his twitching right hand. "And you're an idiot, father. You _gave_ me to him."

"See?" Voldemort said, laughing genially and clapping Orion on the back. " _He_ gets it."

"But I wouldn't follow you to the loo if my life depended on it," Sirius went on seamlessly. "And the only thing I'll _give you_ , Voldiewarts, is the two-fingered salute. Here, have one for the road." Sirius obliged, then he touched the back of his neck and hissed.

"Didn't I _silence_ you?"

"Did you?" The child Sirius raised his eyebrows, sneering at Voldemort in a flawless display of the Black manner his father had insisted on hammering into him. Orion should have been proud; he'd taught the boy well. He just stared at his son, as if only realising something had gone _very_ wrong. "I can't _recall_ , lord Voldirot."

"Sirius?" Coop asked the lad, who had picked himself up from the floor and now stood at his side, the twitching of his fingers the sole indicator of what had happened.

"Yes, Mr. P?"

"You have no sense of self-preservation whatsoever."

"No, Mr. P." He shrugged. "I know."

The memory dissolved, into another one.

* * *

They were, once more, in the Black library. Only this time, Sirius the child was dressed in plain green robes. The back of his neck was swollen and oozing a green substance, so it couldn't have been very long after the previous one.

Voldemort was sitting on his favourite chair, twirling his wand with long, slender fingers. At the far corner, Bellatrix was filing her nails and lounging with Rodolphus Lestrange.

"One more time, Sirius. What is the counter to the Imperius curse?"

"There _isn't_ one," Sirius the child answered. "Except not doing as you're told."

"Something you are very familiar with. Bellatrix, my dear… cast with me."

"Gladly, Master." She jumped up as if fitted with a spring. Sirius let out a slow, bracing breath.

" _Imperio_." They spoke the curse at the same time. Sirius' face went slack.

"Tell him to do something, anything." Voldemort prompted.

"Lick the floor like the _animal_ you are."

"Just because _you_ like to do it doesn't mean I will." Sirius shook the curse off without a second thought.

"Good. Sirius, what is the counter to the Cruciatus Curse?"

"There… isn't one," Sirius replied, but he was bracing himself already.

"Oh? _Really_?"

"That's why they're called Unforgivable Curses, lord _Thingy_." Sirius spat the word out. There was a flash of light, a yelp, and a moment later, Sirius was staggering to his feet. Blood was coming out of his nose, but he didn't move to grab it, as anyone else would have. The side of his face showed a reddening line, as though he'd gotten hit with a whip.

"Wrong," Voldemort replied in that genial tone of his. "They're called Unforgivable because they go against nature. Loss of free will, unstoppable pain, and sudden death. What," Voldemort's voice was now cold, "is the _counter_ to the Cruciatus Curse?"

"Killing the caster? Lord _Valdemar_?"

Another flash of light, another whiplash. Sirius doubled over, wheezing.

"I can do this all day, little cousin."

"I can see that, Trixie Pixie can't-aim-for-shite."

Whiplash. Sirius yelled out, curling up into a ball.

"Get up, Sirius, don't be ridiculous. Bella my dear, if you won't let me teach my little Lion in peace, I will have to ask you to leave."

"He's being _disrespectful_ , Master."

"I am aware. Much as I dislike his behaviour, that is something I shall punish _later_. And right _now_ , you are both vexing me and managing to… damage my pet heir. Fix him up and have Kreacher bring us snacks, please."

"Yes, Master." Grudgingly, Bellatrix cast a few charms on the boy, then left.

"Get up, little Lion."

"I can't see." Sirius stated this without betraying any emotion, but Coop could, for the first time since he was six, tell he was frightened.

"Thankfully you're not standing on your eyes."

"Lord Vladiwasi did a funny."

" _Crucio_! Now, little Lion, where were we? Oh yes, how would you, heir to the Blacks, counter _this_ curse?" Sirius was writhing on the floor, his back arching off the bloodstained carpet. "No answer? No… quips? You disappoint me. Yes, Kreacher, leave that on the table and get out of my sight."

Voldemort stood, without lifting the curse, as a nastily grinning House Elf scuttled away.

"One more time, _Siriusss_ ," he said, hissing the name out and whipping his wand up and down, as if to shake water from it. On the floor, Sirius wailed. "What is the counter for the Cruciatus? I too, can do this all day, but can _you_?" He looked the food over, picking a piece of cheese for himself and analysing it lazily.

In the back, Sirius started laughing.

"What's funny, little Lion?"

"Y-y-your f-f-face, you _bastard_!"

"Now, that's just plain rude, Siri—" Voldemort turned—and stared. Sirius was standing up, face bloody and staring at him through unseeing eyes, while the curse still held.

"The counter is _Contra Cruci_!" Sirius shrieked with the shrill voice of a child, but the blast of power slammed Voldemort against the wall. The Dark Lord was staring at the boy with a flicker of— there was no mistaking it— _fear_. "Do the next one, I _dare_ you." He spat it out, shaking from head to toe. "There's definitely no counter to _that_ , and even if there _were_ , I'd not cast it. Better off dead than anywhere near _you_!"

" _Contra Cruci_ ," Sirius said next to Coop, sounding almost placid. He raised his eyebrows, impressed. "Good to know."

Coop's eyes wandered towards the older version of this child with awe and not a little worry. Sirius had been frightened at first, he suddenly recalled, and why hadn't he just taken him out of the Pensieve then? Sirius had felt the curses as if they were happening to him all over, which was nowhere near healthy… But now, a handful of memories later, he seemed at ease, leaning against the wall, his right hand's fingers jerking out of their own accord. It sent alarm bells off in Coop's head.

"Are you all right, my boy?"

"Oh _yes_. I didn't know I could _do_ that." Sirius watched him for a moment, cocking his head to the side in a decidedly doglike fashion. " Are you?"

"Let's go. We've seen enough. I know what they did to you, and what to do to counter the spells."

"Okay. Bye."

"Sirius, we are leaving, together. Now."

"I need to _remember_ this—"

" _Obliviate_!" Voldemort gasped in the background, and the memory cut off.

* * *

"I'm tired," Sirius suddenly said, as if he'd just noticed. They were floating in the whirlwind of fog, as all around memories, faces, even smells flashed into view.

"Let's take a break, then, get something to eat, maybe take a nap."

"It's like Grampa P. said, 'I don't stop when I'm tired, I'll stop when I'm done.'" Sirius quoted something Coop's father used to say, one of those pearls of wisdom parents were supposed to pass down the generations. This one, had clearly been misinterpreted. "Don't worry, Mr. P. We _have_ to see it all, don't we. And… and if we leave now, I won't come back. I won't remember, and I won't _want_ to. Let's just get it over with. I'll be okay."

"Are you sure?"

"No." Sirius gave him a lopsided grin, then nudged him towards a strand that was drifting past them lazily. "Try that one, Mr. P."

Coop obeyed, deciding that Sirius had a point. What other spells did they have to counter? He had been keeping count, and he suspected that his list would grow further still before they left the Pensieve.

By the time they were sucked into the memory, Sirius was fast asleep beside him.

.

* * *

.

"Do you think he sealed off the Floo already?" Pete had to jog to keep up with James' and Remus' fast pace.

"Why should he? He's got no idea I told you anything." James stopped abruptly, making Peter walk into Remus. "Wait here, this is actually pretty groovy."

"Er." Remus seemed lost. "What's groovy, again?"

"Wait for it, you'll love this," James said confidently, closing his eyes to focus like Dumbledore had taught him.

"What, a blank wall?" Pete deadpanned. He and Remus exchanged a look that plainly said James was less coherent than usual.

"Just gimme a sec."

"Mate, you've lost it."

"Maybe he's just leading us on."

"Yeah, because you called him wanker like, ten times."

"I _told_ you I was running out of insults."

He ignored them, focusing on the room he needed, and walked up and down the corridor three times, to the utter confusion of his friends, which gave way to wonder when a door appeared on the wall.

Within a couple of seconds, wonder gave way to approving nods.

"Sweet!"

"Aye, that _is_ groovy."

"Wait till you see what's inside," James told them, opening the door.

"Holy hell."

"How did you find this place?"

"Dumbledore."

" _No way_."

"Believe it, Pete."

"Hey, look at all the fireworks!"

"Hold it, Moony. Those are for Sirius." The other two Marauders froze in their tracks. They had been reaching for the two large crates filled with Filibuster's best. Remus withdrew his hand as if burnt, and for an instant they wore the same hurt, mournful looks they had for the past month. James inwardly kicked himself for being so insensitive, and elaborated.

"I just… I want to welcome him back with a bang when he comes back."

"When he comes back?" Peter seemed to be only just realising that Sirius was alive at all. So was Remus. They had focused on James' lie, on the story they'd heard, but they, unlike James, had been trying their best to come to terms with the fact that Sirius was dead and that they'd never see him again. They had _accepted_ it, whereas James hadn't, and he wished he'd never have to.

" _He will_ come back." Remus looked at James and then… he gave him the widest, most relieved grin in creation.

"Yeah," James smiled. "I hope he will, soon."

"Do you know when?" Pete was suddenly very eager too.

"Poops said he needs to… to manage staying awake for more than a few hours at a time first."

That sort of wiped the grins from their faces, so he hastily added, "It won't be long now. You'll see him in a bit, he'll be over the moon when he sees you."

It was as though they had no time to waste, all of a sudden. A vibrant sort of electricity filled the Come-and-Go Room.

"I'll check if the fireplace works," Remus announced and hurried to the far end of the chamber, almost tripping over pranks and getting his foot caught in a Fanged Frisbee that was just lying there.

"And we'll look for the Floo Powder," James offered, as Remus was cursing in the background. He and Pete went over every inch of the room, but there wasn't any.

"Gah," Peter muttered. "Where can we get Floo Powder now?"

"Let me think." James wondered who of their teachers would have the easiest office to break into; after all they kept a jar by their fires, as a rule.

"Okay, I got the fire going. What about the Floo Powder?"

"No dice, Moony. Dumbledore must've taken it."

"Then… what are we—" Pete began. It was almost a whine.

"McGonagall has some," James interrupted, adamant not to let his friends' fragile moods drop again.

"Isn't she _in_ her office?"

"Let me see," Remus pulled their map out, while Peter bobbed impatiently up and down beside him.

"Well? Is she?" he asked, but James knew the answer even before Remus voiced it: "I don't know, it's not on the map yet."

"Gah. We need to get that fixed and soon," Pete muttered.

"We need Sirius for that," Remus reminded him, and James was grateful for the way he could actually, finally say the name, and say it in something very much like his old tone.

However, Remus was right. They were okay charming the rooms, but Sirius had figured out how to actually see what was going on in them. Not even James really knew what spells Sirius used to make the map show tiny cartoons of whoever was on it, but they'd done the Great Hall and the ground floor, before the holidays, as well as some of the classrooms and most of the hallways. They'd planned to finish the teachers' offices before the Yule, but they'd never gotten around to it.

When Sirius managed to make the map show who was where, he and James had been having so much fun watching the scenes playing out in the castle and making up the silliest stories for them, that they forgot to charm the offices. That, they'd thought back then, could wait until after Christmas break.

James gave himself a shake to focus on the next step — because there had to be a next step — and snapped the other two Marauders to attention. They laid a hasty plan— because for some reason now they were in a hurry — and snuck to the third floor.

None saw the large jar of Floo Powder that had appeared on a little table next to the fireplace. If they had, well.

This story would have been much faster to tell.

Their plan was simple and a quick fix, which took next to no time to be put into action, which James was silently grateful for. It was dark out already, and they couldn't get caught now. They'd skivved off classes all day, and any teacher who spotted them would haul their collective furry backsides to detention faster than they could say "oops".

They needed to be quick, they needed to be stealthy, and they needed to have a lucky break, because they never did their pranking before curfew.

Using the cloak, James was to sneak in and filch the Floo Powder. Remus and Peter would be disillusioned and distract their Head of House, if she was there at all. There was a chance that she wasn't; it was late, probably around dinner time (it was impossible to tell what time it was, as out of them, Remus was the only one who wore a watch, and the thing had taken to flashing a little sign at them that read "Watches have feelings too!" over the past hour).

Under the cloak, James cast a one-way window on McGonagall's wall. It allowed them to look inside the room without being spotted, and —

"Rats," said Remus, and next to him, Peter snickered.

"You called?" He asked. Remus shushed him.

"She's in there." Pete and Remus groaned. James, though, had been thinking ahead on how to get past this particular obstacle.

"You go distract her, Wormy."

" _You_ distract her, James. She'll tear me to ribbons."

"Shh! She'll hear us!"

"Unwind your underpants, Remus."

"You unwind them, _wanker_."

"I _said_ I was sorry."

"Yes, but you're still a wanker."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

The three of them snickered, watching McGonagall grade some papers for a moment.

"You fit under the door, Pete," James insisted. "You're the only one with a bloody collapsible skeleton."

"But… She's like, my mortal enemy!"

"Yeah, but if she sees you, she'll transform."

"That's what I'm afraid of!"

"When she does, lure her to the window, so we can open the door, and distract her with…" James conjured a ball of string, giving Peter a bright grin. He pulled a baggy of catnip out of his pocket, and made the fragrant herb stick to the string. " _This_." He held it out triumphantly. "She won't be able to resist. And then you can squeeze out the door, _and_ she'll be suitably distracted, so we can all escape."

In the end, Pete did it. James disillusioned Remus, and gave him the string, while Remus cast a silencing charm at the door, which Pete was squeezing his fat backside under.

Through the one-way window, James and Remus watched as McGonagall froze, sniffing the air. A mischievous sort of look crossed her face — so weird to see — and an instant later, a tabby was crouching on her chair.

Pete scuttled and meeped his way towards the window, as James had told him, and yes — McGonagall followed, tail swishing.

"Now." James hissed, and Remus opened the door, letting James inside.

McGonagall pounced. The rat she was chasing squeaked and made a wild dash to the door, but already something else was sailing towards her, and James had been right. She couldn't resist the ball of string with catnip.

A few moments later, the three Marauders were in a side passage hidden behind a tapestry, laughing their heads off.

"Did you see her face when she bonked into the catnip?" James wheezed. He had been able to stroll out with a bag full of Floo Powder, completely ignored by the cat purring at her new toy.

"Did you see _mine_ when she nearly took my head off?"

"We had your back, Pete. She wouldn't have."

"And she didn't."

"Yeah. She only got close."

"Let's go, then, what are we waiting for?"

Together, they set off towards the Come-and-Go Room.

.

* * *

.

Coop didn't leave the Pensieve for what felt like an eternity (but probably was only a few long hours), nor did Sirius ask to stop, despite the fact he was passing out more often now. When he was awake, he resembled the Sirius Coop had known for a decade, so much it was hard to remember that he was ill at all. Also, the curses he was remembering with didn't seem to affect him as much, and it should have made Coop suspicious, but it didn't register at the time, not as it maybe could have.

Whenever Sirius woke up, which occurred when they were in between memories, it was as if he had boundless energy, and insisted he felt fine, answering Coop's questions honestly and without hesitation; so they continued exploring memory after memory, searching for the one event that Dumbledore had said, was keeping Sirius from healing.

Most of the memories they went to, through, weren't bad memories as such; the blood-brotherhood spell James and Sirius had cast on themselves was seen in action; Coop watched his boys (yes, _his_ , both of them) grow up, make friends and enemies in various scenes where there was no Voldemort, but many faces that now belonged to Death Eaters; Coop witnessed in flashes how contrasting Sirius' school life was from his private life, and how Sirius coped with his ruthless family, never once losing that defiance that so characterised him now, up to the point when Sirius was named heir to the High House of Black upon Orion's death last spring.

He'd been correct in assuming the Snuffles incident had marked a turning point in Sirius' worldview; where before he had tried hard to please his family, after Snuffles, he no longer seemed to care. He'd turned his attention on other things, actively seeking to go against them with every fibre, contradicting them whenever he could, and consciously driving them up the wall. He became a fan of all things Muggle then, making a point of flaunting it.

Walburga distanced herself further from him, her communication with her son morphing from curt (but civil) conversation and into yelling, screeching, emotional blackmail that would have worked, had she ever been a mother to Sirius (but obviously didn't, as she wasn't) and insults that made Coop do a double take more than once. The house of Black was divided, and she forbade Regulus to even talk to his brother, isolating him even more from them all.

On his part, Orion's dogshit look levelled up to the point where he looked like he had _eaten_ the turd, only to be dished up another one for seconds. He became even more of a tyrant, and at one point, Coop wasn't sure but Sirius must have been no older than fourteen, the two had a shouting match of epic proportions, where Sirius loudly renounced him, his family, and everything they stood for.

Coop finally recognised the boy he'd grown to love as his own at that point. It was as though his transformation was complete, and it was clear to him as it must have become clear to Orion then, that his eldest would never become what he wanted him to be. Not because he _couldn't_ , but because he had decided he would not.

"Your House of Black will change, father," Sirius had spat, using the same tone Orion had used on him that day, when he was six and stuck in that basement. "If it's up to me, I'll change it so much you'd never recognise it. Enjoy your old traditions while they last, because I _will_ end them all." More was said, shouted, threatened. But those words would have been what Orion took to his grave a year later. He had created exactly what he'd wanted, the strongest heir his family could ever have had. However, this heir had a mind of his own, he had something they lacked, and it was that what had undone everything.

Alphard had come to the rescue, as he often had in the past. Orion asked his brother to take Sirius in for the holidays, because he could not bear the sight of him. It was the last time Sirius saw his father, and the time when he started spending all the holidays with James.

For his part, Sirius slept through most of those memories, or seemed so close to sleep that Coop just kept a hold on him to avoid losing him in the mist.

* * *

Coop had been quiet for what felt like hours, when a wave of cold hit him in the face. There was a dead owl on the floor, which Coop recognised as Launcelot. That meant…

"Oh, dear," Coop muttered. It was freezing in the darkened room, which he somehow knew to be Sirius'.

He saw a dozen Death Eaters around him, and Sirius woke up with a yell just as his memory self was hit with as many curses.

"I cannot control him, as I said, so I called his cousins to help me," Walburga was yammering, leading Voldemort into the room. It made Coop's blood boil. "His father, bless his soul, could do it, but not I! Take him, take him now and be _done_ with it!"

The Sirius now on the floor was the same Coop and his wife had been tending to for the past month, but he was still standing, surrounded by Death Eaters. He absently noticed his pyjamas had originally been white; when they'd discarded them they had been sort of maroon, and he could see why. He was bleeding from various cuts before his eyes.

"I will, Walburga… Narcissa, take your aunt downstairs. I will join her momentarily."

"No! I want to watch! I want to see him cowed again, muggle-loving waste of breath that he is!"

"Very well." Voldemort stepped into the room. "Hello, Little Lion."

"Don't _call me that_ , you bastard— _oof_."

"Respect your betters, boy!" Rabastan Lestrange removed his boot from Sirius' midsection as Voldemort waved him away.

"Who, _him_?" Sirius scoffed, yet managed to pour a good measure of disbelief into his words. "You're idiots! All your jabber about blood purity and traditions, and the High Houses, and you're _blindly_ following a ruddy _half-bl_ —"

Sirius fell to his knees, screaming. Voldemort's Cruciatus had clearly gotten stronger, and Sirius didn't counter it as he had when he was twelve. He had forgotten, Coop realised. It was as though he was meeting Voldemort for the first time.

He hadn't forgotten how to keep a secret, though.

Coop watched Voldemort try his damnedest to wrench the Potter's whereabouts from him, to no avail; While it was commonly known that the Potters lived in Godric's Hall, the ancient manor could only be entered by a true friend to the family, and only a friend of the Potters could allow others to enter Godric's Hall. Sirius knew it well; so, apparently, did Voldemort.

"You have been entrusted to my care," Voldemort said softly. "To bring you to your senses, to prepare you to become what you are meant to be - the head of the Black Line, loyal to the Pureblood Cause. And you'll prove it by bringing James Potter to me. Ah, the two of you together... Just imagine what you could accomplish."

Coop shuddered at the thought. If Sirius had broken… gods, what if he _had_?

"Are you deaf or just plain stupid?" Sirius' voice was merely a whisper. "I'll _never_ join you, or your ruddy Cause - or your army of utter _idiots_."

Voldemort laughed. An earnestly amused laugh that drowned out the furious mutters around him.

"You see, Sirius, that is the sort of thing that won't do," he said pleasantly. "This sort of disrespect has no place in your bearing, nor does it befit your status or blood."

"I _did_ say no," Sirius reminded him stubbornly. Voldemort ignored him.

"You might be the heir to a greatly powerful Line, but you still owe respect to your elders, and that is what we shall base our relationship on. I give the orders here - and _you_ , my boy, shall _obey_ every last one of them."

"Like handing James and his family over to you?" Sirius shot back, furiously. He raffled himself up, his expression one Coop had never seen on his face before. "I'd rather die."

"You _will_ , if you don't submit to our... arrangement." Voldemort's voice was suddenly threatening. Some of the Death Eaters in the room shivered. Sirius, though, didn't. Coop once more saw, to his horror, that Orion _had_ managed to produce the perfect Black, only with one tiny difference to the rest of his clan.

This one had a moral compass that was unerringly pointed north.

"Piss off."

And a huge mouth.

Coop made himself watch, made himself keep a tally of what had been done to Sirius; they had speculated about what spells he had been hit with… but this was rather worse than he'd feared.

It didn't help that Sirius didn't break— Oh, Coop _was_ grateful, beyond that, even, but Sirius was _too_ defiant. He wouldn't give an inch, wouldn't so much as shut up to minimise the damage, not even when he was sobbing out choked challenges at mid-voice after a while.

"Why didn't you give in?" Coop asked in a strangled sort of tone.

"I did say never," Sirius reminded him grimly, analysing his memory self almost critically. "I just can't remember if I followed through or not."

"Yeah, but _why_?"

"Because I'll be damned if the lord _Thingy_ over there gets to do any of this to James."

Coop rather admired Sirius just then, but he didn't get to tell him as much. His attention was drawn to where Voldemort was demonstrating one spell he had never before seen: the air smelled of ozone all of a sudden.

" _Sirius_ —"

"Don't worry, Mr. P. It's like you said, it's just a memory; it can't hurt you."

" _What is he doing?_ "

"Haven't the foggiest— oh, g _ods_." Sirius backed away, recognition suddenly etched on his face, just as Voldemort hissed out the spell: " _Vim Vita Absorbet!_ "

Both Sirius and his memory self crumpled as one.

Coop was at his side already, watching him go rigid, watching a bright sheen of energy being pulled out of him and into Voldemort, was the same happening all over again?

"Just a taster, little Lion," Voldemort said, and he sounded _giddy_. "So you'll know what is in store for you and Potter, should either of you defy me. You can either serve me and live, or serve me in death, and fuel my power forever."

Sirius was released from the spell, and though the memory one was slumped in a heap on the floor, the other one was already struggling to sit up, wheezing for breath and shaking head to toe.

Voldemort asked Sirius again, "Will you submit now, little Lion?"

"Never."

"Teach him some respect." Voldemort turned away, even as the Death Eaters closed in.

"At least I didn't piss myself," Sirius muttered, still trembling. He sounded relieved, of all things.

"Sirius, this is _insane_! They're— son, they're tearing you _apart_."

"Yeah. They did." Sirius sounded choked up for a moment, then gave himself a shake, exactly as Coop had seen him do countless times before. He smiled, a small lopsided affair that contrasted with the agonised howl in the background. Coop didn't know, even afterwards, which had shocked him more; the sheer atrocity he was witnessing, or the matter-of-fact way in which Sirius seemed to _accept_ it. "I'm lucky."

"Son, I wouldn't describe any of what we've seen so far as _lucky_."

"I got you to put me back together, don't I? _That's_ lucky."

Coop wrapped an arm around the boy he'd adopted two days ago (posthumously, but that would be set right soon) and drew him close. To his credit, Sirius didn't flinch back.

"Always," he whispered in Sirius' ear. "As long as there is a Potter alive, we'll be your family. And we will do our damnedest to put you back together, Sirius. Every time, no matter what may come."

Sirius stared at the elderly wizard, completely at a loss for words.

Coop thought it was high time something shocked him; he was just saddened that it was _this_.

"But…"

"I solemnly swear, as you kids say. As long as any of us lives, you will never have to endure such cruelty again."

Sirius was silent as he turned to watch himself escape Voldemort, and though Coop winced at the _crunch_ when he fell, he was smiling as his memory self turned into a huge dog and ran into the shadows, out of sight.

"Mr. P?"

"Yes, lad?"

"I'll forget this, won't I?"

"Yes, lad. Probably."

"That's a pity. This was worth remembering."

"I'll get those damned memory spells off, and then I'll remind you, every day if need be, until it sticks," Coop promised, as they flashed through snippets and increasingly disconnected images. There was little coherency to what they were seeing now; Coop doubted that there would be, unless they countered the spells he now knew were keeping Sirius from healing.

"I'm _tired_."

"Go to sleep, lad. I'll remember for you."

.

* * *

.

James toppled out of his father's fireplace first.

What met his eyes, was nothing he would ever have expected.

_Dumbledore_ was there, for one. And he was shouting for James' Mum in an urgent voice he'd seldom ever heard from the Headmaster. _And_ his beard was on fire. And there, on a pair of recliners, were Sirius and his Dad, they looked to be asleep, but—

Just then, before James had had a chance to get himself into a suitably worked-up state, Peter and Remus toppled out of the grate, falling over him in a haphazard pile of arms and legs that got so tangled, it wasn't even funny.

"And what on earth _are you doing here_?" Dumbledore thundered.

James raised his head. He was so lost. He was so confused. He was so … toast.

"Visiting."

"This is not a good time, James."

"What's happening?" James extricated himself from the other two Marauders, who tried to blend in with the carpet the instant they saw who their welcoming committee was, and started towards his father and Sirius. Dumbledore grabbed him by the arm and held him back.

"I am not sure. It's best if you do not approach."

"Your beard's on fire."

"Oh. Oh, dear." The Headmaster patted the fire out, but James paid no attention to that. On the sofa, Sirius suddenly started twisting around this way and that, in what James could only describe as one hell of a fit.

It made James' blood run cold. Behind him, Peter let out a rat-like squeak. This was definitely _not_ what he'd have wanted his friends to see today.

"What's wrong with him?" he heard himself ask. It came out in a tiny voice.

"I am not sure," Dumbledore repeated. "Betty, I can't get them out of the Pensieve. I can't even get _close_."

James' Mum had hurried upstairs, carrying a basin with steaming water.

"Albus, this has to stop. It's gone on for hours!" She sounded hysterical with worry as she put the basin down on a table and approached Sirius.

Dumbledore's shouted warning came an instant too late: there was a flash of light, and Betty Potter sailed across the room. James and his friends hurried to help her up.

"James, what are you doing here? Oh, Remus, Peter. It's so good to see you boys. Yes, yes I'm fine. We don't know for sure, honey. I'm sorry," she responded to their frantic, jumbled questions. What was going on was prominent among them, and was she okay, and what the hell had happened, and could she stand, and what the hell was going on?

James' eyes wandered to the best friend he'd left behind only last night, in a much improved condition than before. He'd hoped Sirius was getting better, but this was exactly the opposite. He was lying still now, fingers twitching and shivering, and looked to be completely passed out. On the other sofa, his father was also trembling, and both looked rather… blue. There was a Pensieve between them, and each had a hand dipped inside. If James hadn't just seen Sirius spaz out, he'd have sworn they were asleep.

There was a silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire, as all eyes fixed themselves on the scene.

Betty wrapped an arm around James, holding him close...

And then Sirius snored, making them all jump.

.

* * *

TBC. R&R.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: The Marauders are in for a surprise, Dumbledore breaks a promise, we meet Angus McAlpin and his lovely daughter Nina, Coop and Sirius leave the Pensieve, and the Death Eaters leave The Room.


	10. Vim Vita Absorbet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Coop and Sirius emerge from the Pensieve, the Death Eaters emerge from The Room. Narcissa gets a job she doesn't want, Regulus refuses a job he ought to want, and Snape giddily snatches up a job that isn't wanted by anyone else, Dumbledore breaks a promise, and James solves a riddle, while in other news, the Potters get a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Still not an owner of the HP verse.

 

* * *

**Part Ten: Vim Vita Absorbet**

* * *

.

"Sit down, all of you." James obeyed, and by the scraping of the chairs to either side of him, he knew Remus and Pete had followed his lead.

They were in the Potters' dining room, and also in a considerable fix. James worst of all.

Dumbledore regarded them in silence for a while. Over his spectacles, under his spectacles, and through his spectacles.

James had never seen the Headmaster so grave, and it meant nothing good.

He fought the urge to fidget.

Dumbledore let out a long, slow breath, then sat down across from them.

James resigned himself to the lecture, but he was already bracing himself for the punishment. Not only had he broken school rules and left the castle, he had dragged two fellow students with him (at least, that was what he would say), had specifically gone against Dumbledore's express orders not to tell Remus and Peter, had come home without the Headmaster, which was bad enough, but he'd skivved, and caused his friends to skive, classes for an entire day. And stolen Floo Powder. From Googles. Which was worse.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, and the three boys before him inhaled sharply. Then he opened his mouth and he three boys held their breaths.

And then, he said, "Would any of you boys… care for some tea?"

The three boys deflated. Peter said he'd like some, yes. Please and thanks. Remus shook his head, and James just bit his lip.

"We are in a bind," the Headmaster explained. "Poppy noticed that Sirius wasn't healing as he ought to. And you've seen yourself how he seems to have some trouble recalling things lately, James."

James nodded. He'd told the other Marauders about that earlier, but what did that have to do with their punishment?

"So we talked to him, and he agreed to go look at his memories, with your father, and try and find what spell was cast on him that is causing these lapses. We have reason to believe that both his current state and bad memory are linked to whatever it is that neutralises what Poppy is trying to do to help him." Dumbledore summoned a tea tray and poured some for each of his students. "It took us most of the night to retrieve the memories, and this morning they both went to analyse them. However, shortly after, what you witnessed started happening."

"You mean, Sirius spazzing out? Sir?" James ventured, and Dumbledore nodded.

"On and off, all day," he confirmed heavily. "After the first such incident early today, I tried to pull them both out, but as you also saw, anyone who tries is thrown back, or singed rather wonderfully. I haven't been able to pinpoint where this magic comes from, or why it's there at all. Sometimes Sirius appears to be asleep, as we witnessed just now, and others…" he trailed off, but they all understood. They'd seen it, after all.

"What can we do?" James asked, all thoughts of expulsion forgotten in a blink. His mind was already racing to retrieve any information he had ever read, heard, or learnt about Pensieve magic.

"Wait and hope Sirius or Coop manage to break out of the Pensieve. Every time I've tried to pull either out, it has been with the same result."

James sipped his tea, still worrying his lower lip, but this was for another reason. He was thinking hard, and not about the blasting magic on the Pensieve or whatever, but instead he wondered why he hadn't felt or sensed _any_ of it. He still couldn't reach Sirius, it was as though he'd vanished completely.

So maybe Sirius had closed the link, but he'd _promised_ he wouldn't. Of course, James had broken promises too, today, but it was all for a good reason.

He felt Remus and Peter looking inquiringly at him, doubtlessly wondering the same thing. He gave them a minute head shake. _No, sorry. No contact._

Peter wrapped his hands around his cup, visibly trying not to cry. James felt the same way, but forced himself, as he had so often since this all began, to think of something, _anything_ that would keep hope alive.

And right now, it meant finding a solution to whatever stupid fix they were in once again.

"What will we do if that doesn't work, sir?" Remus had finally found his voice, or at least part of it. He sounded like he was eight years old.

"We need to break that connection, but it is a delicate matter; memories that have been tampered with cannot be treated except with the utmost care… At the moment, I am awaiting the arrival of a good friend, Angus McAlpin. He might have some insight on the matter, seeing as he is an expert on mysteries of the mind. Otherwise, if there is anything you can think of, we are open to suggestions."

Immediately they started talking at the same time; Peter suggested using a fire-retardant potion; Remus, summoning the Pensieve. James shook his head, though, and the other two Marauders quieted down. The silence was restored. The Headmaster watched them over his spectacles, and waited.

"Maybe it's linked to intent?" James asked abruptly, looking up. His Mum sat down at the head of the table, giving him the same questioning look as everyone else. "Like the wards we have here," James elaborated. "Anyone with evil intent gets zapped. So, if we approach but _not_ with the intention to pull them out, maybe we can get close."

"That is actually… an excellent idea, Mr. Potter," said Dumbledore at once. James realised how desperate the great wizard was, when he all but jumped to his feet. "Let us try it."

And it was high time they did something, James' still racing mind noted, as the next instant a loud, unearthly howl rent the air. James felt all blood drain from his face, and the next instant, he was out of his chair; that had been Sirius, screaming out in pain.

It was immediately followed by a shrill chorus of, "MISTRESS!" courtesy of the elves they'd left to stand watch.

"Oh, no. _Not again_ ," Betty wailed, but already they were all racing for Coop's study.

.

* * *

.

The door opened with a creak, making Voldemort look up from his _Daily Prophet_. Potter had finally retaliated, providing an official story for the masses. It confirmed one thing in Voldemort's mind: Sirius Black was at Godric's Hall, out of sight and out of reach. Travers had searched the premises with a handful of Aurors. There had been no result.

A moment later, he raised one eyebrow.

His trusty Death Eaters were _finally_ leaving The Room.

The other eyebrow rose like the first.

What was left of his trusty following, anyway.

Voldemort studied the ragged, steamy-eared bunch now filing into his sitting room in silence. Most were nursing injuries of varying degrees of gravity, they were all dishevelled, filthy, and steaming around the ears. To think that this bunch were the Wizarding World's finest. And they muttered and complained about why he wanted Black and Potter? He suppressed his frustration, waiting for them to speak.

"My Lord," Malfoy began, as their spokeswizard for the day - or night, as it were - and they all bowed deeply, getting ready to kneel. Voldemort gestured at them to rise. He had just had the carpet cleaned. "We have… discussed the matter at length, and we have a plan, Lord."

"I am listening, Lucius."

"While we do not as yet know Black's whereabouts, we are confident that we can deliver Potter to you."

"Oh?"

"Yes, since Black is not there," Malfoy replied, clearly not adding the words 'to thwart us once again,' "Potter will be an easier target. He has been attacking anyone and everyone who says anything against Black, so we believe we can, using some inside help, deliver him right here, and to you, my Lord."

"We'll injure him, and then bring him here using a Portkey," Bella supplied. "Although we could also kill him. It would be easier, because we'd have to time the Portkey and that always takes time."

"I am impressed," Voldemort decided, putting his paper away and watching his Death Eaters with something akin to pride. "You've managed to think of a workable plan that doesn't involve spending three weeks looking for a _vase_ , and tell me about it, all _without_ fighting among yourselves. But there will be no killing Potter, Bellatrix. He is mine."

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix looked disappointed. He'd have to make it up to her, soon.

"Our humblest apologies, Master." Others were speaking up too, Voldemort waved them off impatiently.

"Who would procure Potter?" Voldemort asked, focusing on what was actually doable.

"Narcissa, my Lord." Lucius sounded confident.

"Or Regulus, my Lord." Bellatrix sounded grudging.

Voldemort nodded to himself. He'd send Bellatrix to convince a few members of the Deparment of Magical Catastrophes to help the Cause. If they agreed, that was good. If they didn't, at least Bella would be happy. He hated having her grumpy; she tended to take it out on his ranks. Often in his house. If he had to have the carpet steam cleaned one more time…

"I like it. Go ahead and do it. In the meantime," Voldemort's words made the Death Eaters, who were already scrambling to leave, stop in their tracks. "We will hit a few targets of importance."

"The Potters, my Lord?"

"If possible, but they're on the lookout. Godric's Hollow is too well defended, but Travers told me that the MLE is pulling out of the village in a few days. I have a list of names. Those muggle-loving villagers who dared defy us, thrice, no less… They shall pay. However, I digress. We are going to remind the Ministry that the holidays are over."

The Death Eaters exchanged uneasy glances. They hadn't had any holidays, but as Voldemort— and he was sure, they as well— saw it, that was their own fault. Some even gave him disbelieving looks, as if they were expecting the Dark Lord to yell, "APRIL FOOLS!"

Which of course, he didn't.

"When, my Lord?"

"Tomorrow night. So get your rest, and we shall convene here tomorrow at seven. Lucius, Bellatrix— you two speak to Narcissa tonight, I want results as soon as possible."

* * *

.

James reached the study first, leapt over Hinky, Dinky, and Blimpy, the elves who were hurrying to get his Mum, and skidded to a halt next to his Dad's chair, only realising he'd not been sent flying when he bumped into it.

Sirius was arching off the back of his settee, struggling to breathe and jerking so hard, James feared he'd tear something. He knelt next to him, grabbing his shoulders to keep him from falling—

His world erupted in agony.

_"Just a taster, little Lion," Voldemort said, smiling widely. "So you'll know what is in store for you and Potter, should either of you defy me."_

James felt as though he he was being torn apart. His every fibre was burning, being split from his very core. He was being liquefied, disintegrated alive—

He fell to the floor even as Sirius went limp, a scream dying in his throat.

" _JAMES_!"

There were hands on him, shaking him, pulling him away from Sirius.

"I'm alright," he tried to say, but it came out as, " _Ungh_."

His Mum's arms were around him suddenly, and only then did James notice he was crying.

"I'm okay," he mumbled a few minutes later, huddling in a blanket. He was still shaking, but it wasn't a lie. He could even feel his toes again. A little.

"What happened, honey?" Betty asked him, arms wrapped around him as though he'd spaz out again if she let go.

James didn't like being coddled, as a rule; much less in front of his friends, but he didn't care right this minute. He, too, felt like he'd spaz out again if she let go, after all.

"It was him," he answered, "it was Voldemort." Pete and Remus hissed at the name, but James ignored them. "He said… he said it was a taster… a taster of what he'd do if… if Sirius and I defied him."

"Do you know what it was? A spell, a potion, what?" Dumbledore's pointy nose felt like it was too close for comfort. James saw that there was a hair on its tip.

"A spell, but I sort of barged into it when I touched Sirius. It felt… like, like being dissolved in acid." That explanation was insufficient, _nothing_ could describe what that had felt like at all.

"Can you recall the colour, child?" A new voice boomed from beyond his field of vision. James, who was already bristling at the address quite despite himself, looked up and saw a tall, muscular wizard towering over them all, shaggy white hair framing a bearded face with the most startling deep blue eyes.

He'd met Angus McAlpin before, but the man always made him feel half his size… and age.

The wizard was kneeling before him next, moving James' head this way and that, checking him over for damage.

"Don't mind me, laddie. Do carry on," the wizard prompted, as though it were perfectly normal, to find this sort of thing upon visiting old friends.

"Everything was… sort of murky green, sir. Like looking through swamp water."

McAlpin stood up, and regarded the scene before him for a long moment.

"Albus," he said, "I _told_ ye not to do this, ye dafty old coot. I told you he wouldn't be safe in there."

_What?_

Shock at the way McAlpin was addressing the famed Dumbledore aside, James was alarmed at what he heard. He shot a fearful look at his Headmaster, who had the grace to look abashed.

"I distinctly recall you telling me it wouldn't work, that he'd not manage a single memory." He gestured at the Pensieve, which was brimming. "As it turns out—"

"I meant, he'd not manage to survive _remembering_ one," McAlpin corrected impatiently, in his heavy Scottish accent. "Why don't ye ever listen? Why doesn't anyone? Why ask me for my opinion, if ye act like ye ken it all?"

"I… misunderstood, Angus. My apologies."

"Apologies won't get this bairn on his feet, will they?"

"No," Dumbledore admitted. "But—"

"Ach, never ye mind." The tall Unspeakable waved it off, the intense blue eyes roving from James, to Sirius, to James' Dad… and back to James. "Can ye stand, laddie?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Then come here, I won't bite ye." He smiled gently, and gestured James towards another chair. James found himself shakily obeying. "So, Albus, take it from the top, and pray, don't spare any details."

While Dumbledore related what little he knew, Angus McAlpin cast a series of diagnostic spells at James. He could feel them crawling underneath his skin, probing at his magic. James gave a start. On his settee, Sirius did as well, but James missed it. He'd spotted yet another face, one that felt familiar, but he was _sure_ he hadn't ever seen that girl before.

She was no older than him, pretty (though not as gorgeous as Evans, of course), with the same intense deep blue eyes as Mr. McAlpin and long ash brown hair, and she was, predictably, watching Sirius in a horrified sort of silence.

Even after one month on the brink of death, he _still_ managed to capture the attention of every female around. How he did it, James didn't know.

"… and then Sirius had another attack, just when we were about to attempt to see if James' theory worked," Dumbledore finished his summarised version of events.

"It did," James pointed out.

As though she had been waiting for confirmation, Betty Potter moved forward, hesitating only for a moment before she knelt next to Sirius, in much the same way as James had. She braced herself… and touched his shoulder lightly.

Nothing happened, and everyone in the room let out a relieved breath.

"I'll just see to him, shall I?" She asked, and was immediately joined by Remus and Peter, who were pale and shaken, but eager to help, and possibly confirm that he was, indeed, alive.

"This isn't good," Mr. McAlpin stated, having finished dissecting James' everything. "It's a dark curse, of the worst kind."

"What kind of curse?" James found himself asking, and damn, he now sounded like he was eight as well.

"I cannae say fer certain," Mr. McAlpin stated. When he frowned, James noted, his entire face crinkled up. "Ach, ye'll be fine lad, don't ye fret, ye only got smidged by it." he shrugged his shoulders, while James wondered what it would be like, to be more than smidged by it. "If it weren't impossible, I'd say it's one of the Three."

James felt so lost.

"One of the Three?"

Oh good, he wasn't the only one. Dumbledore didn't have a clue, either.

"We called them the Three Terrors in the Department of Mysteries, but I reckon that is a misnomer; granted, they'll give ye nightmares. The first, absorbs the future of the victim, prolonging the life of the caster, and the victim instantly perishes of old age; the second, takes their memories, their intelligence and mind. And the third, and worst by far, absorbs the soul into the caster, every ounce of magic, every molecule empowering the caster and adding to his or her life force and power."

"Sirius has been forgetting stuff left and right," Dumbledore said, "Could that be it?"

"I cannae say for sure until the bairn is out of that blasted thing."

James bit his lip again.

"Is there any counter curse? If it's one of the Three?" And why did he keep referring to Sirius as 'the bairn'? He was taller than James.

"Nah," McAlpin replied, patting James on the head as though he was a toddler, and moving to check on Sirius and James' dad. "There's not even any incantation; the only source for these curses we have found is five thousand years old, and it was a description in a _legend_."

"But you said—"

"I said it could be, if it weren't _impossible_ , laddie."

"Just… humour me, suppose it was possible." James argued. "What then?"

"Then…" Mr. McAlpin shook his head. "Nothing to be done. But not to worry, I'm sure it's something else."

"So glad we've got _you_ ," James muttered mulishly. "I thought you were an expert in mind magic." McAlpin let out a booming laugh, patting him on the shoulder. It felt like being hit by a bludger.

"I can see why Sirius likes ye, laddie."

"You know Sirius?"

"Aye, been visiting for years, with Alfie. He's my neighbour over in the Highlands."

"Oh."

James knew Alfie had sometimes taken Sirius to spend his holidays near Inverarray, at Black Lodge. James had been, once or twice, before the war got really bad; they'd learned Muggle skiing and gotten to ride Alfie's flying horses. Sirius loved it there; James had frozen his arse off, even in the Summer.

.

* * *

.

It was midnight, and Lucius felt cold. All around him and Bellatrix, mist was swirling, catching between their feet.

They were under the bridge in Hogsmeade, and the stream a few feet away was carrying blocks of ice.

"How much longer?" he asked impatiently, rubbing his hands together.

Bellatrix huddled in her cloak, huffing.

"I hope she arrives soon, so you'll quit your complaining."

In the end, she did arrive, giggling as she threw herself at Lucius, who, predictably, forgot all about being cold and miserable.

"You weren't followed, dearest Cissy?"

"No, Bella dear," Narcissa answered primly. "And it wasn't fun at all, darling sister; I had to wait for that dirty Squib to sweep the entire ground floor! I had to hide in a broom closet!"

"It will be worth your bother," Lucius told her. He wasn't complaining anymore, Bella noted. "The Dark Lord has a mission for you and Regulus."

"Another one?" Narcissa's asked, letting out a long-suffering sigh.

"We are sorry, Cissy, but he is impatient, and we failed him last time…"

"And we need you to help us appease him."

"Isn't there anyone else?" Narcissa asked. "I have fallen behind on my course work already," she added petulantly.

"It must be you. If you can convince that brat Regulus to help, those are extra points."

"Why don't you do it? Honestly, Bella, Reggie has been insufferable lately. He's angry because we didn't let him know in advance."

"He'll get over it," Bellatrix said confidently. "And shouldn't he want revenge on Potter? It's his fault Sirius died, after all."

.

* * *

.

Hours had passed; it was now past midnight, and there had been no change.

The adults had tried, quite fruitlessly, to send the Marauders (and Nina) to bed, but they adamantly refused. Although there was literally nothing going on (aside from Sirius twitching at random), none wanted to leave, so they'd camped out in James' Dad's study, talking a little about what had occurred since Sirius went missing, and James had to relate his story once more.

He gave the same version of events he had given Dumbledore, which was the truth, only omitting his blood-bond with Sirius and their abilities as Animagi. Dumbledore and Betty told them about Sirius' progress so far, and what had happened since they'd started this memory retrieval project. Mr. McAlpin, for his part, paffed at his pipe and listened. He didn't even call Dumbledore a dafty old coot again. Which was a pity, the way he said it was hilarious.

Mr. McAlpin was a straightforward, blunt kind of wizard, radiating a fiery sort of old power; Dumbledore was respectable and impressive in his own right, and his might was like the calm before the storm. Dumbledore made you feel like nothing bad could ever happen if he was nearby, because _nothing_ could shake the old wizard. Angus McAlpin was like the eye of a firestorm, wilder, less restrained, and decidedly less controlled. With him, you felt safe because he was just… _badass_.

And, just like Dumbledore, you couldn't help but trust him blindly.

When he went to check on Sirius, James followed, hoping the wizard wouldn't give his brother a friendly pat that broke his bones all over again, and he was earnestly surprised at the gentleness with which Mr. McAlpin treated him.

The girl, whom Mr. McAlpin had introduced as his adoptive daughter Nina, hovered worriedly over his shoulder.

"Will he be all right?" she asked, in a tiny voice.

"Aye lass, don't ye worry. We'll have him on his feet again in no time." He smiled reassuringly at her. "At least he isnae deid, and that's what ye need to focus on."

That was all they'd had, for what felt like ages. That Sirius 'wasnae deid'.

Remus and Pete were subdued as they waited, and even though the Elves brought them snacks and drinks to keep them busy, nobody spoke much… until, at long last, Remus let out a frustrated sigh, breaking the tense, worried silence.

"Gah," he said, "this is awful."

"Aye, lad," Angus responded. He was puffing on his pipe, feet propped up on Coop's desk. "But we are out of options. All we can do is wait and see."

"I know, sir," Remus muttered. "I just wish there was something we could do, like go get them or something."

"Wait, ye havnae tried that yet?"

"No, we couldn't even approach them," Dumbledore said.

"Aye, but—"

"But we found a way around that," James overrode him, on his feet already. "I'll go."

"No you _won't_ , you can barely stand," his Mum argued.

"I feel _better_ ," James insisted.

"No, you don't. Now hush."

"Betty is right, James. What if that happens again?" Dumbledore asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "I will go, and try to find a way to bring them both back."

So, a chair was hauled next to the Pensieve, Dumbledore sat down… and dipped his fingers in the swirling mass.

The room was completely silent, for a handful of eternal minutes.

And then finally, _finally_ , there was a gasp, and a frazzled-looking Coop sat up on his chair, getting tangled up with the blanket he had been covered in, as he all but jumped up to get to Sirius.

"Come on, Sirius, lad… it's time to wake up now."

Sirius twitched a little, but he just slept on.

" _Dad_!"

It was as though someone had lit a firecracker underneath their collective seats. At once, the room exploded in motion and sound; Dumbledore was trying to explain what had happened on this end, while James' Mum rushed to his Dad's side, asking if he was alright; Pete, Remus, even James were firing away questions at a rapid rate. It was bedlam for a few seconds, but all their questions went unanswered. All Coop did, at first, was pull James and Betty into a fierce group hug.

"Ow, Dad… _ow_ , I can't breathe."

"Never," Coop said seriously, pulling away and holding them at arms' length. "We are _never_ letting any of those bastards near him, ever again." Only then did James notice how ashen his face was; how gravelly his voice sounded. It was as his father had aged ten years, and not in the kindest way.

"You found it?" Dumbledore asked keenly. "Did you find the memory that's keeping him from healing?"

"You could say that, Albus. _Angus_!" Coop exclaimed in relief. "I'm so glad you're here."

"Yeah, he's got no clue, Dad," James pointed out.

Coop gave James a grin, "Nonsense." He turned to Dumbledore next, all traces of the smile gone. "Call Poppy, Albus. I fear something has gone very wrong. We need to get him to his room. And _nobody_ touch that bloody Pensieve."

.

* * *

.

They all did as he asked, and moments later, Sirius was in his room with a minimum of fuss — he'd not woken up at all — and Poops was making a considerably larger fuss over getting him settled, muttering angrily about irresponsible headmasters who had no respect for the convalescing.

She had kicked them all out, so the mismatched group gathered around the dinner table, while Coop had some shepherd's pie and what looked like a gallon of water, and gave them an abridged version of what he had seen.

James was grateful for not having been sent to bed along with his friends, but what he heard made him wish, not for the first time today, that Remus and Peter weren't exposed to it. Even McAlpin's daughter Nina was silent and contagiously downcast. She hadn't said a word for hours.

"We thought there was one, maybe two, spells at work here," Coop said heavily, tossing a roll of parchment towards Dumbledore and Angus, who immediately started poring over it.

" _Impossible_ ," they both said, frowning deeply.

"There's layers upon _layers_ here. And you say they started when he was _six_?" Angus seemed baffled. Coop made a 'get on with it' gesture, nodding. "He shouldn't be able to function at all. Under all of these for so long, he shouldn't able to remember how to use a _loo_."

"Angus… he's got total recall."

_"What?!"_

"Um, what's total recall?" Pete asked, but the grown ups blanked him. It was like none of them were even there.

"He remembers everything," Coop said. "His memories are, you _saw_ , Albus. They're _vivid_. There's smells, and sounds, and temperature, even thoughts, I realised that when he started falling asleep. And sensations, taste, the works."

"And pain?" Angus asked. Coop nodded heavily.

"Everything."

"That explains it," Dumbledore said. "Shortly after you went to explore the memories, Sirius started convulsing. I tried to pull you both out then, but I was thrown across the room."

"I tried to get him to leave. He wouldn't."

"Do you mean that every time he—" James' Mum started, aghast.

"Total recall does that," Angus interrupted. "I am sorry, Betty."

"We tried to pull you out all day," she said, looking mortified. "But every time we tried, we were blasted away."

"Except for James," Peter pointed out.

All eyes turned to fix themselves on the youngest Potter.

"Yes, James figured out that if we approached, but not with the intent to pull you out, we were safe… although at a cost."

"If he didn't want to leave, then he probably was the one blasting us." Dumbledore shook his head, clearly regretful. Coop patted his arm.

"Oh, you were right in setting this up; even if it _was_ a nightmare, we would never have found out what is really wrong. And Sirius wanted it over with. He wouldn't have been able to leave the Pensieve and return, and to tell you the truth, neither would I."

"So what did you find?"

"Spells, mostly dark curses, _Imperius_ , could you believe, for the most trivial things, like picking up his room. When that failed, Cruciatus."

There was a collective sharp intake of breath at that, and Coop shrugged. "Yeah, I half can't believe it myself, and I was there." He sighed. "And Voldemort was the one who instigated it all."

As he listened to his father's short account (the barest basics) of Sirius' past, James felt ill to his stomach.

"That all stopped when he was twelve or so, he blasted Voldemort against a wall. Voldemort erased his memory then, a complete wipe. Sirius didn't see him again until last month, and he couldn't remember having met him before at all."

"What did he want with him?"

"It was as Sirius told us, he wanted our location… or rather, he's after James."

"But why?" James asked. "What does he want with me? What have I ever done to him?" He hadn't expected the three old wizards (and his Mum) to stare at him as though he'd just dribbled on his shirt.

"You're the Heir of Gryffindor, laddie," Angus said, as if it was the most obvious thing. "Even at school, he hated Coop with all his might."

"You went to school?" James blurted in disbelief, making all of them burst out laughing.

"Of course we did," Coop replied, grinning. "We're not _that_ old, you cheeky monkey. Seven years, just like you."

"I meant, you went to school with Voldemort," James amended, but he too, was chuckling.

"Oh, aye. And with Sirius' parents, and Minerva McGonagall, and about a thousand others."

"Angus always had a thing for Minnie," Betty said, smiling reminiscently. Across the table from James, Remus and Peter were mouthing, ' _Minnie_?' and, ' _Whaaa_?'

"So he's got a school grudge," James wanted to know more about Voldemort, and school grudges, he could understand. Although he resolved to file this bit of information away for later use.

"More like a blood feud. Tom, that's his name, is a half-blood," Coop explained.

"But he _hates_ —"

"Who he is, in a nutshell," Angus took a gulp of his tea and lit his pipe. "He hated Coop because he, well, is a pure-blood. And the last descendant of his ancestor's rival."

"That's ridiculous!"

"Yes, and dangerous, because now _you're_ that last descendant."

"So that's why he made Sirius' life hell? A stupid bit of old history?"

"There's power in history," Dumbledore countered, "and the old families all know that. Some, like the Blacks, live and breathe by it, and Voldemort has used the knowledge of their obsession to his advantage; look at what they did to Sirius on one of his whims. They would have been proud to do it, as is the case with most of his following. It enabled him to do many things without really stirring a finger, and that's partly why he is so powerful now."

James exchanged a look with his friends. They wore the same alarmed looks he was wearing.

"But Voldemort is an accomplished Legilimens," Dumbledore said next, turning to Coop. "If he wanted your location or anything else, he could have extracted it easily."

"The bairn is an Occlumens," Angus waved him off, and now it was Dumbledore's turn to look like he'd dribbled on _his_ tunic. As was James, how did this wizard _know_ that?

"Alfie taught him," was the explanation. "And he told me, I visited him before I came over. He said Sirius asked to learn when he was, what, eight. Something about a dog."

"Oh yeah, he'd rescued a stray puppy," James said, fishing something from his mind that _felt_ like ancient history. "He wouldn't talk about anything else for weeks."

"Yes. That was it," Coop confirmed quietly.

"Wonder what happened to it. One day, Sirius just stopped going on about Snuffles, and didn't ever mention him again."

"You _don't_ want to know, son."

James decided he'd better shut up. Was nothing what it had seemed?

"If he's an Occlumens, Voldemort wouldn't have gotten jack-squat from him," Angus pointed out, getting back on topic.

"He didn't," Coop confirmed. He looked pained. "So, Voldemort resorted to other things."

"That would explain the memory loss," said Dumbledore.

"Yes, if he was trying to hide something hard enough, he could've locked everything else out too."

"He didn't give Voldemort anything but nicknames." Coop looked wretched. "It was _atrocious_ , Angus. Voldemort cast this spell… it was the worst thing I've ever seen."

"Describe it."

Coop did, and James recognised the spell he'd felt for a few seconds, which was still making him ill.

Angus stared at Coop.

"Was there an incantation?"

"Yes," Coop answered. "It took a few moments to cast, but it was— it felt like it was impossible to stop. Even the Death Eaters were panicking." _Walburga_ had looked horrified, and she'd _asked_ to see some quality torture.

"What _was_ the incantation?" Angus asked sharply.

"I don't want to say it out loud," Coop answered. He scribbled it down instead, and pushed the scrap of paper towards his old friend.

Angus glanced at it. Then he erupted in a bout of swearing that made Betty exclaim, "Angus! Mind your language! There's little ears present!"

"They've heard worse, I'm sure." He shoved the parchment at Dumbledore.

"Is it…"

"If it's _anything_ , it's the Third Terror. The Soul-Sucking Curse."

"Is there a counter?" Coop shot at him.

"No, until just now, there wasn't even a _spell_."

"James, when he touched Sirius, he got hit by it too." Betty reminded them.

"He'll be fine, he only got the fringe ends of it."

"For a second or two, and out of a memory."

"I feel _fine_ , Mum."

"You don't, honey. Hush now."

James was about to argue, when Poops arrived.

"I don't know what happened," she said, looking in dire need of a cuppa (whiskey) and at wit's end. It put everyone on high alert all over again. "He's… he's asleep, but everything else… it's almost as if he went and got hurt all over again, and now my treatments are being countered. If he carries on like he is, I'm sorry, but he won't last the night."

.

* * *

.

Back in the Common Room, Narcissa skipped all the way to the Study Hall, where Regulus was reading, despite the late hour. Slytherins were mostly night creatures, and this was nothing out of the ordinary. She closed the book and took it from his hands.

"I was reading that." He'd become dreadfully short-tempered over Christmas break.

"Hello dear cousin," she said, perching on the armrest of his sofa and giving him a winning smile. Regulus gave her an unimpressed look.

"What is it, _cousin_?" he asked impatiently. Her Uncle Orion had been exactly like that, too. Even Sirius had shared that trait.

"You're no fun," she answered. "Ever since the holidays."

"Gee, I wonder why." The sarcasm, needless to say, was wasted on her.

"Listen, we have a plan."

" _We_?"

"Well, you know. Bella and Lucius."

Regulus didn't react, so she elaborated.

"They want us to get Potter for… you know. _Him_."

"Potter."

"Yes. Now that piece of _scum_ —"

"My _brother_."

"He's not your brother anymore," she argued, sniffling with the arrogance that had characterised her and her sisters. "Auntie Walburga disowned him."

"So?"

"So we all did. That's what family's for!" Why didn't he grasp the most obvious thing in the world? He was supposed to be _clever_.

"Yeah, killing its members and _then_ disowning them."

"And helping each other too," she replied.

"Yeah, to accuse the dead of murder after they were _killed_."

"So, you'll help me do this." It wasn't a request.

"Do _what_ , exactly?" At fourteen, Regulus was no idiot; he knew his politics, so he decided he'd hear her out. She smiled widely at him.

"Get Potter, silly."

"How?"

"You know how easily he's needled lately, so all you need to do is spark his anger. He'll come after you, and then I can hex him from behind."

"What's that going to accomplish? All of us in detention?"

"No, him in the Hospital Wing. Once he's there, we'll plant a Portkey on him and he'll be whisked away to where he belongs. You can hex him, if you want. I'm no good at duels."

"I want no part in this. Give me my book."

"What? Reggie!" Narcissa frowned. " _Why_?"

"Because I don't want to. You might hate him that's your business, but he wasn't _your_ brother. And no matter what _anyone_ would say about them, you wouldn't _dream_ of going against _your siblings_ , cousin. You cannot make me go against mine."

"Potter isn't your brother."

"He was more family to Sirius than even I. So, count me out."

"But he's a blood-traitor!"

" _So is Andromeda_." Regulus glared at her. Narcissa's blood froze in her veins. "I don't see anyone trying to kill _her_ and _she's_ got a half-blood for a _kid_. At least Sirius didn't _bed_ a Mudblood."

"Keep your voice down!" Narcissa hissed, panicking. What was he thinking?

"Not so fun when the tables are turned, is it? Cissy?" Regulus' dark grey eyes bored into Narcissa's, flashing out a challenge.

"But the Dark Lord —"

"Can kiss my pureblooded arse," Regulus quoted one of Sirius' favourite sayings.

" _Reg_!" Narcissa's voice was such a low, scandalised hiss that he probably barely heard it. Regulus grinned at her toothily. "You're as bad as he is!"

" _Was_ ," he corrected. The grin was gone. "Thanks to _you_ , your _psycho sister_ , and both your _boyfriends_ , I hear. So tell me again, why I should help you?"

"Because we're _family_ , Regulus Black!"

"He was your family too."

"Grah! Move on already! You hated him as much as we all did."

"No, I didn't, I just didn't bother to set your nearsighted perceptions straight, just as you never bothered to ask _me_ what I thought about it."

"You'll have to join. Might as well start now."

"See, that's your problem, Cissy," Regulus got to his feet. He was still over a foot shorter than her, but she felt very small. "You, thinking that I have to do _anything_ , when I don't, not anymore." And now he was throwing his _status_ at her? He _was_. Worst of all, he was _right,_ but this wasn't a time to grow a pair! And Narcissa had to deliver Potter, or else—

"You might _have_ to join up," she insisted worriedly. "Everyone else pretty much has."

"Not today." Another of Sirius' favourites when faced with a similar prospect. Threat. Whatever.

* * *

Narcissa had caught Reg's counter threat easily enough; he hadn't bothered to shroud it at all. Threatening Andromeda ensured she wouldn't disclose any of what they'd spoken of here, but it didn't mean _he_ had to honour anything.

They'd killed his brother already, hadn't they? He'd been away at Elladora's for a couple of days, and when he came back, it was to a disaster area and news that had hit him hard, that still hurt.

Sirius and he had always had a "feud" which had served its purposes; it had kept Regulus firmly in his overbearing family's good graces, and given Sirius ample opportunities to pick on them. Outwardly, they were enemies, sitting on opposite ends of a battleground. In truth... they were _brothers_.

They _liked_ it that way.

That fake feud didn't mean they hadn't gotten along. Rather, the opposite was the case, and clearly, they'd fooled _everyone_.

All his life, Regulus had been protected by Sirius. He'd called him Reggie when nobody else was around. He'd taken the brunt and blame of every last thing Regulus could have been punished for, whenever he could and without ever complaining; he'd defended him whenever anyone dared pick on him at school, or even at home. He'd kept their crazy cousins off Reg's back by keeping their attention focused solely on him; and he'd visited him when he fell ill. They'd played chess together every week. It had even been Sirius (and James) who had taught him how to fly.

There was just too much history there to just dismiss what he'd lost, much less the desire to celebrate it. And now, Regulus wasn't only propelled to the post of The Black, which he didn't want or really know what to do with, he was also, for the first time, truly _alone_.

Yes, he was a Slytherin through and through, but he was also a Black, and if there was one things Blacks _never_ did, was betray their family. As his father had. As his mother had. As his brother bloody well _hadn't_.

_How could they_?

They said Sirius was the traitor, when they'd betrayed him first, left him no choice but defy them. If he'd been in his older brother's shoes, Regulus would have done the same… And how could _he_ , Regulus, not have done anything against that? Not _once_? Sure, he could say he hadn't known - and he hadn't, not until the Yuletide - how bad it was. At home, Sirius and Regulus only saw each other at meals, if Sirius was allowed at all. They hadn't talked, not about that. But part of Regulus had known, whenever his mother whisked him away from the house, took him places... He had known why. And he had done nothing to help.

It was eating him up inside.

" _Regulus_ …"

"I won't stop you, Cissy," he said, snatching back his book. "But I won't help you, and you'd do best to remember that." 'If you want your sister to remain forgotten' hung in the air between them. Just for kicks, Regulus left it there.

Power, he'd learnt, had its uses, and Slytherin with a conscience though he might be, he was still a Slytherin. And he was now The Black.

He shouldered past Snape, that Prince half-blood who had had a _true_ feud with his late brother, and who seemed to be arriving for a study session. Good. Let Cissy endure the stench of him.

"What won't he help you with?" he asked.

"Why do you want to know, Snape?" Cissy was angry, which Regulus felt, was a point scored.

"Because I just might help you do it."

Regulus decided to hang back a little and listen in on _this_ , just in case.

.

* * *

.

"You were right, Poppy. We're back on square one."

"I've been _telling_ you, Headmaster."

"What do you reckon, Angus?"

"Me? I reckon we have to stop this, somehow— but everything I can think of, will take…"

"Time."

"A lot of that, yes. And luck, and a couple of minor miracles."

"And he's running out of everything."

"Unless… it's a long shot, but it might work in our favour. What do you think, Coop?"

"The Draught of Living Death. Yeah, I hear you, Angus. Go for it, Albus."

"I'll call Horace. He might be able to make some, if he doesn't have any in store."

"That'll take _hours_!"

"Oy, if ye have any better ideas, Coop, I'm all ears."

James watched the tense exchange from the doorway of his and Sirius' room. Next to him, Remus and Pete were both staring tiredly at the older wizards, who had all clumped around Sirius' bed and were discussing what to do next. Nina was nowhere in sight.

"I thought they'd _know_ what to do," Remus sounded hollow.

"They sound like _us_ ," Peter looked close to tearing his hair out. James felt that way too. "That's how _we_ solve problems, for Merlin's sake!"

James snorted, but couldn't think of anything to say. His stomach was in knots around his Adam's apple.

"The Wizarding World's finest," Remus muttered. "The famed inventor of Sleek-Eazy, the Supreme Mugwump and the Head of Mysteries can't figure out how to wake Sirius up."

"To be fair, we can't ever wake him up when we want him to, either." The three Marauders watched the Headmaster hurry to the Floo, and sighed.

"Well, yeah, Pete. But they're supposed to be _professionals_."

.

* * *

.

"Here's what we'll do," Coop told the Marauders, after some additional deliberation with the adults, "Albus has gone to procure a Draught of Living Death, to buy us time. And other potions, I can't remember off the top of my head. In the meantime, we'll split off into teams. Remus, you and Dumbledore will research—"

"He's away on personal business," Dumbledore interrupted him. "I searched his stores, and there isn't any."

Angus swore vehemently. Betty didn't even shush him.

"Can't ye do it, Coop?"

"I told you, I invented the Sleek-Eazy by accident!"

"I can do it."

All heads turned towards Peter, who instinctively shrank back behind James.

" _You_ , laddie?"

"Er. Yes. I think so, if I have the ingredients and the recipe, I can brew the Draught of Living Death."

"He _can_ ," James said emphatically. "There's not a potion on earth that he can't make."

"On the first try, too," Remus gave Peter an encouraging pat on the shoulder. Peter blushed crimson.

"You're a godsend," Betty beamed at him. "There's more potions we need as well."

"Give me the list and I'll have them as soon as I can." The shortest Marauder was all business all of a sudden, bobbing up and down on his toes, as he always did when he was impatient, while Angus scribbled off a list and handed him the parchment.

"Do ye reckon ye can make these?"

Pete scanned the list, then nodded.

"On it, Mr. P," he said, and Betty gestured for him to follow her.

"Come with me, honey. I'll help, and the elves will too."

"Remus, you go with Albus," Coop resumed. "Find anything and everything you can about memory spells, layered spells, these curses." Coop have him the list he'd brought back from the Pensieve.

"On it, Mr. Potter."

"And you're with us, James. We'll try and figure out how to cast the counter curses and disassemble the memory spells without damaging anything else, so Poppy can finally get around to healing him. She and Nina will get some restoratives from Hogwarts, and start on their healing right after, so we don't have long." Everyone was gone the next moment, and James nodded, approaching Sirius' bed with apprehension.

What he saw…

Was the exact same thing he'd already become used to.

James frowned. "He looks the same."

"Looks can be deceiving, laddie." Angus cast some complicated-looking spells, that made Sirius glow different colours all over.

A flick of his wand made the colours float up into the air, and start arranging themselves, floating this way and that. It made James rather dizzy.

"We need to figure out the exact order these were cast," Angus said, watching the older spells arrange themselves at the bottom, near the floor.

"And figure out what they're tied to."

"'Choo mean, tied to?" James asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Sirius was out of it, drooling a little. He looked _asleep_ , not half dead.

"Any spell, be it a Dark Curse like the Unforgivables his family love so much, or a Memory Spell, will usually fix itself on a certain point, it varies. Take a Slashing Curse, for example," Coop explained, sitting on the other side of the bed and watching Sirius sleep. "Where it hits, it cuts, right? It's different with Unforgivable curses. They completely attack the victim, so they always go to the same point where the first one hit and spread from there. The more curses of the same kind are cast, the hotter the spot. Memory spells also do that, they spread along the nervous system, fix on a point, and then spread from there."

"So if we find out where it started…"

"We can take down the spells in layers, from the newest to the oldest."

"There's something odd here," Angus muttered. "My results are off."

Coop left James to worry next to Sirius, and joined Angus in his analysis of the diagnostic spells he had cast.

"So, lad," Angus said, leaving Coop to work his magic and giving James an intense look that made him want to pull a Pete and hide behind someone, "how long have ye had a blood-bond with Sirius?"

James' mouth fell open of its own accord. The next moment, his heart was holding a percussions concert.

"How do you know _that_?"

Angus grinned. "Head Unspeakable. We don't miss much."

_Ahhhhh_!

"I told him," his Dad said from the other end of the room, where he was dissecting spells. 

"Coop, yer no fun."

"Don't pick on my boy."

"Why'd you tell him?" James was torn between shock and betrayal, and getting worked up all over.

"He needs to know."

"But, _Dad_!" James was scandalised. Inwardly he was already kicking himself for not making his Dad swear a Marauding Oath.

"Aye, but I knew already. Alfie told me, oh, a handful of years ago."

"But he _swore_ —"

"Alfie swore not to tell Sirius' _family_ , which he didn't. He told _me_."

"But why did—"

"Because whatever's wrong with Sirius, once we break the spells, it will probably affect you too, James."

James' mouth snapped shut.

"Delicate things, those blood spells," McAlpin commented lightly. "So easy for them to go wrong… they bind two people body to body, blood to blood… soul to soul. Some say, for eternity."

"I know," James mumbled. His eyes were burning with anger, and he wasn't even sure why.

"Tell me."

"I can't. I swore an oath."

"Aye, it's like ye said, they're big on oaths, aren't they?" And why was _that_ funny?

"That they are. Very honourable, our boys."

"Just tell me one thing, laddie. Did it work?"

James nodded, biting his lip.

"That was all I needed to know." Angus ruffled James' hair with his enormous paw, and rejoined Coop.

"And I thought _we_ were clever, all those years ago," he commented lightly. Coop laughed, disassembling his spells and comparing them to his friend's.

"We never came _close_ to those two," he said fondly. "I swear to you Angus, what we did was child's play compared to them when they're together. Wait until Sirius is back to his usual self. You haven't seen a _thing_."

"And how is _that_ coming on?"

"I don't understand; my spells show the same results as yours. There seems to be no central nervous system activity."

"What? Impossible! Try that one again, the detection one."

While the old contingent fussed about with their spellwork, casting and recasting their charms, James watched Sirius closely.

He was breathing, sure, and his right hand trembled and twitched every so often, but other than that, there was _nothing_.

"I'm going to try something," he announced, but didn't bother stopping to look if he'd been heard.

Sirius had blocked him out before, and it felt much like this… but James could always try breaking through the block. All he needed was to focus.

He placed one hand on Sirius' forehead, and concentrated.

Something wasn't right. James felt panic rising in his throat. This wasn't a block at all— Sirius wasn't even asleep!

Sirius' fingers twitched.

"That damnable tick," Coop muttered, while now Angus was chanting up the spellwork. "I swear, if I see his hand jump _one_ more time—"

"What?" Angus asked over his shoulder. Coop gestured at Sirius.

"Every time," Coop said. "When they were punishing him, _that_ happened. That thrice-damned twitching. The older one had it to. Every. Single…" Realisation hit. Hazel eyes met blue.

"Dad…"

"...Time." Coop finished at a whisper.

"Let me check if that's the hotspot," Angus twirled his wand in the air, chanting an incantation.

"Dad. _Now_." James said urgently. He was rooted to the spot.

"Wait a second, son. Is it?"

"It seems like it. _Yes!_ Fleamont Potter, we have ourselves a hotspot!," Angus exclaimed with a grin. He immediately began checking it for the spells of Coop's list.

" _DAD_!"

" _What_ , son?" Coop turned to James, close to losing his patience.

His son was panicking.

"Sirius is gone!"

" _WHAT_?" Now he had both wizards' full attention.

"I looked, and _Sirius isn't here_! He's… he's _gone_."

.

* * *

TBC.

Read so far? Review. It's good form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: James is panicky, Remus is a nerd, Pete is an expert at brewing death, Voldemort gets back to work, Bella is a mistress of the sneak, the Marauders compare presents. Oh and, Sirius drools a lot.


	11. Some Assembly Required

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Peter isn't useless, Sirius is not all there, James is freaking out, Dumbledore breaks a promise, Bella is gleeful (I'd never have thought I'd ever describe her as such, but she's as giddy as a little girl with new roller blades) and Voldemort finally gets a break (because let's have some pity on the resident dark lord).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I refuse to disclaim anything today.

**.**

* * *

**Part Eleven: Some Assembly Required**

* * *

.

Sirius was gone.

 _Gone_.

James stared at his friend, his heart hammering painfully in his chest. He was so panicked, his hands were prickling like they'd go numb.

His Dad and Angus were hovering.

"What?"

"He's _gone_!" he gasped out. Sirius' hand twitched again. He was still breathing, but he just _wasn't there_.

"Are ye sure?"

" _Yes_!"

The two older wizards exchanged a look, which couldn't have been more dissimilar: Coop was panicking much like James was; Angus seemed intrigued.

" _Son_ —"

"I don't want to hear it." James' hands had gone numb, and the rest of him was following suit.

For weeks, he had kept up a front. One of strength, for Sirius, so he could lean on him; one of optimism, for his parents, so they'd not lose faith; one for the world, so they'd stop looking for his brother. All of this had been hard and exhausting, but worth it.

James had had _hope_.

But now…? The floor had been yanked away from underneath, the one thing he'd not stopped thinking about, the one thing he feared the most had happened.

"James—" his father started. James glared at him.

"No! You don't get to tell me," he shot back. "You don't get to say it'll get better! Don't you get it? He's gone!"

"He's not dead."

"He got hit by the Soul-Sucking Curse! Twice!" James was beside himself with sheer loss. That lump in his throat felt like it was made of concrete. "When he came back, he was dying, he was in pain, he even stopped breathing at random — but he was still _here_! He was _him_ , this—" James gestured at the bed, "this isn't him! This, is just _empty_ , and Poops said hours ago she couldn't treat him." _Hours_ ago. James wrenched his eyes shut to stop crying, but it was useless. "Hours ago. He's been gone for _hours_. And now I'll have to tell Remus and Peter that he's gone, that I got their hopes up for _nothing_ , because he just had to relive that hell, and now I lost him _again_!"

He stormed out, but he didn't get far. There was a constricting feeling in his chest, so strong that he couldn't get a breath in. His knees gave way in the hallway, which is where he stayed for what felt an eternity, but was probably just a few minutes; when he finally wiped his eyes and tried to get the wheezing under control, he noticed that someone was standing in front of him.

It was Nina.

James thought she'd gone to Hogwarts.

She didn't say anything, she just offered him a hand up, and helped him all the way to his father's study.

"No," James croaked. "Remus…" he wasn't ready to shatter his friend's hopes yet again.

"Isn't here," Nina finished for him. "He and Dumbledore went to Hogwarts. Peter barricaded himself in the kitchen. I've been in your dad's study for ages."

"Weren't you helping Poo— er, Pomfrey?" James asked. His breath was coming in hitched, shuddering gasps, but at least his eyes were dry. Outwardly at least, he looked like he was keeping it together. Sort of.

"I did," she answered, in the same quiet tone. "But then she had to stay because a boy knocked himself out with a Beater's club in the hallway, so I came back here."

She sat down next to James on a sofa, looking at the Pensieve with an expression of utter sadness, a mirror to James' own.

James, for his part, was still in shock, but that was slowly being eaten away and replaced by an ever-increasing hollowness, an ache so all-encompassing that nothing would matter once it took over completely.

Nina handed him a glass of water.

"Thanks," James mumbled.

"He thinks the world of you, you know." The statement hung in the air for a few moments, during which James processed the information.

"You know him."

"Yes," she replied. "My parents were killed by Voldemort," came next. She had a quiet, kind voice, but it did nothing to offset the blow of her words. "I tried to help them, but…"

"I know the feeling." He was feeling it _now_.

"I'm sorry." She shook her head, contrite. "Here I am, trying to make you feel better, but I'm blurting stuff and managing the opposite. It's just— my uncle Angus took me in during the summer. I met Sirius then, Dal Riada is like a stone's throw away from Black Lodge. And," Nina added, "I was feeling terrible, and he helped me loads, through… you know."

"He does that," James responded. It came out hollow, and was he even using the correct tense here? He didn't know.

"He helped me by telling me how you helped him."

James hadn't expected that.

"What?"

"He said you saved his life when he was little, and have done so every day since."

"But… I didn't... I haven't… I don't understand. You're talking about _Sirius_ , right? Has a big mouth, loves motorbikes, terrible at playing the Muggle guitar…"

"Avid fan of Doctor Who, staunchly defends the view that dogs are the best animals to ever exist, and insists that Puddlemere are better than the Harpies, even when he sees them losing before his eyes." Nina laughed a little, and to his own surprise, so did James. "Yes, _that_ Sirius Black." She sobered a second later, giving James a small encouraging pat on the shoulder. "Look, I don't know how to help you fix this, but I'm sure going to help you wherever I can."

"Nobody knows how to help," James replied. "Not old Angus, or Dumbledore, or my Dad… not even my _Mum_." And he realised, that was what scared him the most. "And I don't know… I don't know what to do. He's there but _not there_ , and…" And James was close to losing it on top of it all.

"Well, no, I don't suppose that he would be," Nina conceded logically, gesturing at the Pensieve. "I'm guessing a huge chunk of him is still sitting over there."

Was it dribble on the shirt day?

James closed his eyes wearily. It was all the stress that made him miss the obvious. It _had_ to be.

"In _there_?"

Nina shrugged.

"If he's not in his body..."

James remembered how his Dad had said Sirius hadn't wanted to leave the Pensieve, what if…?

What if he _hadn't_ left?

"Oh… Right. _Gah_ , I'm such an _idiot_."

"You're allowed," his Dad's voice said from the door. "If not now, when can you be an idiot without consequence?"

"But—"

"Nobody expects you to fix him all by yourself, James." Coop looked gravely at his son. "We are all trying our best."

"I don't care what anyone expects. I just want this to be _over_."

"Well, it's not. Not yet, but I reckon that we still have a fighting chance."

James approached the Pensieve, where Sirius' thoughts were swimming about. What if…? What if he'd never left?

"I'm going to go look for him. If he's not in there, we _don't_ have a chance in hell."

He plunged a hand in, before he thought better of it.

.

* * *

.

Her Master, her beloved Dark Lord, whom she had admired for years, had a _plan_.

It was a good plan, as plans went, but it was too… Conservative. Bellatrix didn't _do_ conservative. She didn't even like the word. So sure, it was perhaps the thing to do to keep this war going; but Ministry workers? Weren't there enough of those already in her Master's service? Wasn't it laughably easy to sway them to the Cause lately?

Yes, it _was_.

She was fed up with it. So, she decided she'd do some freelancing. All in the name of the Cause.

Her Master would be very pleased if this worked out. And it would. She never failed., after all.

Never.

Well except for the matter with her baby cousin over Christmas. _He_ was her only failure to date. But then, he had been that and more for over ten years. Her Master hadn't even been mad about it; even _he_ recognised the Black superiority. Which was her own as well.

So, maybe she couldn't deliver baby cousin Sirius to her Master… but she sure as hell could prepare his revenge on those Potter blood traitors.

She had seen to Cornelius Fudge, as instructed, who was laughably easy to sway; getting him to help the Cause by clamouring for Sirius' capture hadn't even taken any real effort, as he was on that boat already.

So, she had time to kill, and she decided to spend it in Godric's Hollow.

She cast a simple glamour spell on herself and visited the town, not bothering to hide or even be a little stealthy. She was living a charmed life, she was certain. As long as she was true to the Cause, as long as the Cause was true to her, nothing and nobody could touch her.

Bellatrix strolled through the frozen graveyard, watching the insolent Muggle-loving villagers go about their day-to-day activities; some were wizards and witches, but others…

Bellatrix' lips curled up in a sneer.

 _Muggles_.

They would be the first to die.

Sadly, not tonight.

Bellatrix sniffed the air, grimacing right after. The stories were right; Muggles stank.

 _Soon_. Soon that stench would become the stench of death, which all living creatures shared once their lives were snuffed out; if these Muggle-loving fools wanted equality, that was the only kind she was willing, nay, _eager_ to provide.

Bellatrix turned her attention to the manor house on the hilltop.

Godric's Hall was bathed in sunlight, protected by a host of protective wards, Muggle-repelling charms, Dark Reverters, Glamours (probably so nobody would see what those blood traitors were up to, sitting on their stupid broomsticks half the time).

A lot of care and generations of reinforcements had gone into giving the old manor and its grounds the most common, _ordinary_ air.

If they got with the times, the Potters would have it ever _so_ much easier.

But of course Godric's damned offspring had, over two thousand years, only been too happy to play along, to let those stinking Muggles thrive in freedom and believe that they ruled the world, when they should be their overlords. Take their birthright to the actual potential it _had_. Instead, they hid. They masked their doings. They tried to _blend in_.

It was sickening.

Bella swallowed back her righteous anger, and pulled out her wand.

Nobody could single-handedly tear down the hosts of wards encircling the manor, but _she_ could, with luck, find the proverbial chink in the armour.

So she found herself a spot that was just outside the wards so as not to trigger them; secluded, so none of the wizards and witches going about their business would spot her; and hidden from view of the manor, to hide the flashes of light given off by her detection spells.

She glanced at the polished windows of the house. While she (and everyone else) had been fooled that night when Sirius had escaped from them last, and while most of the Inner Circle argued, with more logic than she would have credited them, that her baby cousin had been secreted away to Hogwarts or some other safe house, she was _sure_ that the brat was inside.

The Potters would never let him out of their sight, they loved him too much to just let him go, even if that was the _smart_ thing to do. Anyone with sense would have let him die or gotten rid of him. But the Potters lacked sense, everything around them was proof of that.

The fools wore their hearts on their sleeves, and that would be their undoing.

Heartened by this thought, and by many others, chiefly involving what other organs and appendages the Potters would wear on their sleeves, robes, and coat tails once she was done with them, Bella set to work.

.

* * *

.

"What now?"

James was floating in fog. Next to him, his Dad was giving him a tense look.

"Give me a sec." James focused, straining to reach out, not to a memory, but to the real thing.

When he felt a tug, he grabbed his Dad's arm, which was good because an instant later the tug became a yank, and they were suddenly pulled through what felt like a blender.

They landed on wet grass. James was initially blinded by sunlight shining on the Hogwarts grounds. They were near the lake, and James felt a strangely heady breeze ruffle his hair.

"I can't believe you did that!" he heard a familiar voice somewhere behind him; one that was over half delighted squeak and years from maturing into the slightly deeper one he now — thankfully — had developed.

James turned, to see himself and Sirius, brooms over their shoulders and grinning from ear to ear, walking across the grounds.

He remembered this day well; it was that once, shortly after starting their Second Year, when they'd tried out for the Quidditch team and had been surprised to secure spots on it.

"I thought she'd kick me out before I'd even tried out," Sirius chortled.

James remembered this too: they'd been waiting for their turns to try out for Chaser, but Cynthia McRae, the captain, had left some Beater's clubs lying around and Sirius had started fooling around with one. He'd made Beater a few moments later, even before James was picked as Chaser. Knocking out two Chasers and one Beater with a spare Quaffle when they were supposed to be flying laps to warm up had achieved that.

He tuned the memory out; he was already scanning the area to find — _aha_.

Sirius, _his_ Sirius, was sitting on a knoll a little ways away, arms folded over his knees and watching their kid selves from a distance.

"Thank the heavens," his Dad muttered with relief.

"You can say that again."

"I'll get him ready out there," Coop said. "Keep him here, no matter what."

"Consider it done, Dad."

James hurried to Sirius' side, overjoyed.

" _Sirius_!"

"Shh." the git he had chosen as a brother waved him off without even looking at him. "I don't want to miss this."

" _Shh_ yourself," James retorted, grinning with relief as he came to a halt next to Sirius. "I thought I'd lost you!"

"I'm not lost; I'm right here."

_And I'd really like to watch that over there, so shut up already._

"What are you doing here?" James asked aloud, flopping down on the fragrant, springy grass — boy, did it smell _good_ — next to him.

For an answer, Sirius gestured towards their kid selves.

"I meant, here, in the Pensieve."

"Dunno, when I woke up I was here. Well, not _here_ , here, but …here."

"But we got you out."

"That's nice," was the vague comment. Sirius was completely disinterested in everything but their kid selves, who were now falling onto the grass by their favourite beech tree by the lake, making grandiose plans to play for England the instant they graduated, and to sign up for the same teams for ever and ever.

"Are you even listening?"

_No._

"Sure… How's that going?" Sirius seemed riveted on what was going on over there, rather than on the present predicament.

"It's not," James answered honestly.

"Ah."

"Yuh-huh."

"Can you believe we were so… so…"

"Tiny?" James finished for him.

"Yeah. I thought I was taller than that, and we sound like…"

"Little girls," James finished for him. Sirius grinned. "I hear you." He laid back on the grass, watching his friend. "Why are we here, again?"

"It's a good memory."

"One of the best, yeah."

"Worth remembering."

"Dad figured out how to help get those spells off."

"Did he."

"He reckons." James tried to make eye contact, but Sirius was more focused watching their preteen selves daydream loudly about playing for (and winning) the Quidditch World Cup, and swearing a solemn oath (a prototype of the current Marauding Oath in force) to never be apart and win matches together until they were old and toothless (and like, thirty). "If we go now, there's still time."

"James…" Sirius sounded wistful.

"Sirius," James interrupted before he could get any further. " _Why_ are you here?"

"Can you believe… I forgot _all_ of... _this_?" Sirius finally looked at him. He looked sadder than James had ever seen him. "Once you talk about it, I remember. But the next moment, it's all _gone_."

"Remus is on it. And Dumbledore."

"Who?" Sirius gave him a clueless look.

"Rem— look, never mind who they are just now. I solemnly swear we'll figure this out," James told him vehemently. "It's not an easy fix, but—"

"I think I'd rather stay here."

"What? No… _why_?"

"I'm tired." Sirius let his chin fall on his arms. "And it's nice here."

"We don't stop when we're tired, we stop when we're _done_." James voice came out icy, despite himself. "Not before."

"I think it's time to stop, then, Prongs… because I'm done."

"What? You can't be."

"I'm pretty sure I am. Yeah. I think. I think I'm sure."

"Well, that's not possible. Because I'm not done yet," James reasoned. "We'll get everything figured out," he promised next. "I solemnly—"

"Stop. Please."

"But you _promised_ —"

"I don't think I'll be keeping that promise," Sirius said quietly, then gestured at their kid selves to specify. "Or that other one. I'm... James, I'm sorry, I _can't_. I'm… _tired_."

"Poops said you won't last the night if we don't get you fixed. Is that what you want? To just give up, after everything you've done? After everything we've _all_ done?"

Sirius lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Oh yeah, because sorry just magically rights everything. And I'm supposed to go out there, and tell Remus and Pete, sorry, he's not coming out, he's a quitter." James crossed his arms over his chest.

Sirius just shrugged.

"An _oath-breaking_ quitter."

"If you want."

"It'll break their hearts. I told them, earlier. Like _you_ asked. And I brought them over to _see you_ , and now they're scrambling for a cure for you, you daft bastard, and you know them, they'll bloody well _find_ it. They're finally _daring to hope again_ , Padfoot!"

"Remus and Peter?"

"Yeah. Remember them?"

"A little." Sirius bit his lip now, a habit he'd gotten from James. "I think. No. Not sure."

"Look, don't worry about that — I'll remind you. You'll remember soon. You can't just give up."

"But—"

"Look, if you don't want to play pro Quidditch, that's okay. I release you from _that_ vow. But you're not letting yourself die, much less by ruddy hiding in your head. Because I'm _not_ releasing you from your promise, in fact, I'm raising it to official Oath status."

Sirius had nothing to say to that. He seemed to be developing a lockjaw, but he wasn't budging, the stubborn fool. He turned to watch their kid selves again.

"Nina came to see you."

"What?" What, James absently noted. Not _who_ , but _what_. Sirius remembered her.

"With her uncle Angus. She's waiting for you right out there."

"Oh."

"She's worried sick."

 _That_ seemed to elicit a reaction. It didn't seem to be the one James was hoping for, though.

"Tell her that I'm s—"

"I'm not telling her jack," James snapped. "You're telling her yourself."

"I… _can't_."

"Sure you can." James' tone brooked no argument, and to his credit, Sirius didn't test him. "C'mon." James hauled him up by his arm. He was nearly weightless, and not quite solid. James decided it was high time they left, before Sirius dissolved completely.

"If it doesn't work," Sirius said, just as James was about to haul him to the spot where he'd appeared in the memory, "you won't try again."

"You know I will."

"Don't," Sirius advised.

"Would you listen to that amount of horseshit if the tables were turned?"

"No," Sirius admitted, smiling a little. He had the grace to look bashful. "No, I wouldn't."

"So there's your answer. Now hold on tight," James advised. In the distance, his Dad was calling, telling him that they were ready. "We're leaving."

James heaved. Nothing happened.

"What the—"

"I don't know."

"Sirius— are you…?"

"Hey, I'm holding on to you, like you said."

"Then why can't we get out?"

"Maybe if you go," Sirius suggested. "I'll just stay-"

"Shut up, Sirius."

"Well, I don't want you stuck in my head too."

"I _said_ —" James started heatedly, but what he was going to tell Sirius — a variation of "shut up" — never made it out.

"Boys."

Dumbledore was standing next to them all of a sudden.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Sirius' tone was suddenly accusing.

"I've come to get you both out of here," the Headmaster said patiently.

"But you _promised_ —" Sirius tried to argue, but Dumbledore cut him off with a wave of his hand. Sirius acquired a sulky look.

"James, kindly give me a hand, and hold on to Mr. Black here…" James did, and immediately there was a tug, a yank, and that blender sensation again.

There was a wet sort of _squelch_ next… and James found himself standing on his Dad's rug. Right by his side, Sirius was lying on a floating stretcher.

The Pensieve was empty.

James immediately knelt next to him.

"Sirius?" he asked softly, but in his mind he was reaching out… He let out a relieved sigh. Sirius was asleep, but he was _there_.

James looked up at the others' expectant faces.

"He's back," he informed them.

"All of him?" Nina asked. He hadn't noticed that she was right there too.

" _All_ of him," James confirmed.

.

* * *

.

It wasn't until a while later — dawn had finally broken, thus ending the longest night in creation — that Sirius woke up. It was relieving, because James had feared he'd sleep right through everything, and it was necessary for Remus and Pete to know, without a doubt, that he was, in fact, lucid… sometimes.

It was just the four Marauders in the room; everyone else was getting ready to cast spells and preparing potions, and bandages, and salves and whatnot, so they had a few minutes to themselves.

Peter looked like he'd been in — and lost — a food fight; his straw blond hair was greasy and matted in a decidedly Snape-like manner, and there were rings under his eyes, just like the rest of them. Remus seemed ashen, his lean face more haggard than usual. He looked like he'd been through a terrible full moon last night… when it had in fact been last week, and he'd been so depressed that as a wolf, all he'd done was howl for hours, until James thought he'd go deaf. Or nuts. Or both.

They were all tired, and, James found, the waiting was the worst. Even with his friends there, even exhausted as they were from working their arses off all night, it felt like time had slowed down while they waited and watched.

Until Sirius' eyes opened, giving the world a bleary, unfocused look and fixing themselves on James' almost at once.

James looked at him, and for what felt like ages, Sirius stared back. There was no recognition there, not _yet_ , but that had become commonplace.

And then, James decided to break the silence.

"The first one to blink has to kiss Poops," he said.

Sirius just continued staring at him uncomprehendingly.

" _On the mouth_."

Sirius' eyes began to water at once, and then…

"James…?" It was as uncertain as it had been a month ago, but James grinned. At least he wasn't freaking out because the last thing he recalled were Death Eaters trying to kill him.

"Yeah. That's me."

"What's a Poops?"

"Something that comes out of your... Never mind, there's no way I can make that sound good. Welcome back. You can blink now." Next to him, Remus and Peter were holding their breaths, and he was sure Sirius couldn't put names to their faces, so James decided to have pity on them all and help him along. "Remus and Pete have been waiting to see you all night," he told Sirius, gesturing at each of them in turn.

Grey eyes widened in recognition at last, and Sirius smiled at them. They beamed back.

"You're …" Remus started, but then Peter blurted, "Not dead," and they all laughed.

"Not yet, no." Sirius didn't get to say anything else; he was getting tackled by the other two Marauders.

It was as if time suddenly sped up in time with their rising moods, and James found that this was exactly what they'd needed. For a while it was all, welcome back and we were so worried, and do you need anything, and here, have some chocolate, and aren't dogs allergic to chocolate? and, no, he's had the stuff all his life.

They didn't touch on any upsetting topics, much less the worst of them right now, which was the attempt of the older contingent to undo the memory spells while Sirius was knocked out by that sleeping potion.

Maybe they, like James, sensed it would be easier if Sirius didn't know about it; he certainly didn't seem to have any recollection of the plan, and they weren't about to trigger one. They'd worry about it for him.

For his part, Sirius wasn't allowed to lapse into his usual quiet, brooding mindframe. He was made to laugh and smile and kept busy with his friends' antics instead, and by the time Dumbledore, McGonagall (she had been drafted by the Headmaster and received the full story earlier), McAlpin and James' Dad came upstairs to start on their brand of healing, Sirius looked loads better, as did they all.

"Hello, boys. It is time," Dumbledore said, effectively interrupting Remus' — hilarious, though it hadn't been so at the time —account of all the broken hearts Sirius had left scattered across the Hogwarts hallways, who had taken to tripping them up and chasing them to hug them, cry on them, and hug them some more.

"It's the closest Pete's gotten to getting a date," Remus was saying, but then his mouth snapped shut.

"Time for what?" Sirius asked, suddenly wary.

"We're getting those spells off you, honey," Betty told him, sitting down on his bedside. "Peter made you some Draught of Living Death. You'll be asleep for a little while, and I'm sure that when you wake up, you'll feel much better."

"Er..." Sirius was visibly tense now. "Hold up a second. _What_?"

"Wait!" All eyes turned to the door, where Nina was standing. She had had the sense to go to get some sleep earlier, but it appeared that someone had just woken her to let her know Sirius was awake. James had plain forgotten about it.

"Just… one minute, okay?" She didn't wait for an answer, but rushed to Sirius' side instead.

" _Nina_?" Sirius wasn't hesitant, like when he asked for confirmation on a name; he sounded surprised, and James knew why that was all of a sudden.

It was impossible to overlook, even with _his_ bad eyesight.

"You're _alive_ ," she tackled him in the fiercest, most careful hug in existence. Sirius' expression dispelled any doubts James could have had. He _liked_ her. Scratch that, he _more_ than liked her. And she more than liked him, too.

 _That_ was news.

"I'm so, so sorry." Sirius was saying into her shoulder, and was he apologising for being alive? The look he gave her when she pulled away was priceless, James dubbed it the Puppy Padfoot Heartache Stare(TM pending), but it became clear why the next moment; she was crying.

"Don't be. I didn't believe you were dead. And you're _not_. I'm just... happy that I was right."

"How long ago did your dad adopt him?" Remus asked out of the corner of his mouth.

"Three days ago, now." James answered. "Why?"

"Your genes sure work fast; he's already got the PISS."

This made James snigger, but Remus was right; Sirius was giving her this disbelieving and enthralled stare, which James had only seen him bestow on a few select motorbikes and _one_ broom prototype before. Like he couldn't believe his luck.

Nina cupped his face in her hands, caressing his fringe. Next to her, Betty cleared her throat delicately. Sirius' eyes wandered to hers, and he acquired a decidedly more apprehensive expression.

"You'll be all right," Nina told him next, drawing his attention back to her. "I know that the Draught of Living Death sounds ominous, but it's nothing but a strong sleeping potion. It'll help them get those spells off without you even noticing. You won't feel a thing. And you need a break; I know you're tired."

"I'm not _that_ tired," Sirius said at once, belying his chief complaint for ages. Nina smiled.

"I'm sure you aren't. But if you're awake for the spell removal, you'll fidget and squirm like a fish out of the water, and uncle Angus says you need to be very still for a bit." She was running her fingers through his hair, and never mind the sleeping potion, James could see him drifting off _now_.

"Just… don't go."

"I won't," she promised, and Betty gave her the phial with the dose of potion.

James and the others said their goodbyes and see you laters, and watched tensely as Sirius downed the Draught of Living Death. "It tastes funny," he said… and not a moment later, he fell back against his pillows, eyes open and completely limp. And _damn_ , he _did_ look quite dead.

James' Mum closed his glassy eyes, then turned at Nina and the three boys, looking like she had a head cold.

"Come you lot, you need to get some breakfast, and get ready for class. We'll let them get to work now."

" _Class_?"

"You've got to be _kidding_!"

"Why can't we stay?"

"Because I am not covering for you, Mr. Potter," McGonagall interrupted. She was smiling, but she wasn't going to budge. "So off you go, you may return after you have finished your lessons."

.

* * *

.

"I can't _believe_ they sent us back," Remus huffed, as they walked down the spiralling staircase from the Head Office. James wasn't sure he'd ever heard Remus _huff_ before; that was his own department, or maybe Peter's. Remus tended to just take things as they came, rarely ever lapsing into anger or bitterness. He couldn't really afford to, which James was well aware of; he really must be angry if he was huffing over going to _class_.

"At least they're letting us return after class," James answered. "I thought they wouldn't."

"True, but we helped them with the potions and the spells, the least they could do was—" James cut Remus' tirade off; a pair of third year girls were staring at them with wide eyes.

"Pay up," James said, "but that's Slytherins for you. They never hold up their end of the bargain." The girls hurried away, and James let out a breath. "We need to be more careful. He's supposed to be _dead_."

"You should be going to Potions, and you're late on your homework!" a shrill voice exclaimed, making them all jump and breaking the tension.

"Gods, Moony. Why haven't you binned that blasted watch?"

"I got it for Christmas, Prongs. And I happen to _like_ it."

"It's driving me up the wall. Who would be so cruel as to give you that thing?"

"Sirius," Remus answered. "It's a reminder watch. It listens in on stuff you have to do and then reminds you of it," he told them. "Like homework assignments, or it even tells you what you haven't noted down in class. It's also usually more quiet, but usually I actually do what I'm supposed to. I guess it's just mad at me for ignoring it."

"Sirius _gave_ you that?" James shook his head.

"Yeah. He said that he charmed it himself."

Peter looked at the watch, then smiled and nodded appraisingly, and he looked, James thought, a little smug.

"What did you get for Christmas, Pete?" James asked, as they made their way to the dungeons. He hadn't opened his present from Sirius. All he knew was that it was heavy.

"I can't tell you," Pete answered smugly. "Or rather, I can't tell the resident Prefect." This, of course, sparked their curiosity.

"Och come on," Remus prodded. "What did he give you?"

"It's either girls' knickers or a book," James guessed, making Peter laugh.

"Neither. You won't like it, Remus. And I won't part with it. So… you'll have to solemnly swear."

"Okay okay, sheesh. I solemnly swear that I…" he looked inquiringly at Peter.

"Won't report, confiscate, forbid the use of or in any way damage Peter's _awesome_ present."

"What he said," Remus lowered his hand. "You had it all planned out, huh?"

"It's just… a fabulous present," Peter said excitedly, showing them… a ring he wore on a chain around his neck.

"Is it the One Ring to drool them all?" James asked mockingly.

"You know Prongs, if you read the story you'd love it."

"I don't need to read it, I've got you nerds to quote passages at me all the time." James snorted. Remus had given Sirius copies of the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings, and ye _gods_ , were they both hooked.

"It's not Sauron's ring," Peter replied, thus proving that he too, was a fan of Aragorn of a thousand names. "This, my fiend, is a _cheat ring_."

"He _didn't_!" Remus exclaimed. He looked quite scandalised, which told James that his furriest friend was reaching the end of his tether for some reason. It worried James, more than he'd want to admit.

"Hand charmed, just like your watch!" Peter grinned. "Only way more awesome."

"You're _not_ using that," Remus crossed his arms over his chest.

"Am too!" Peter replied. "And might I remind you that you, my Prefect friend, swore a Marauding Oath not to forbid the use of this item."

Remus dragged a hand down his face. In the end, he chuckled in defeat.

"Fine, but I'll have to tell—" James elbowed him in the ribs, "Ow! I was going to say "the caster", James! Anyway. I'll tell him to un-charm it."

"No, you _won't_."

"You betcha I _will_." Remus gave Peter a toothy grin, but little Pete didn't back off.

"He won't listen. Because it's the best thing _ever_ made."

"I'll convince him."

"You got _nothing_."

"So how does it work, Wormy?" James asked, to end the argument before it dragged on longer. Peter beamed at him.

"See, as long as I study for it, the ring will guide my hand to write the correct answers," he said. "So it's not a way to cheat really, since I have to work for it, but I can stop worrying about failing all my OWLs now."

"That doesn't sound too bad, now does it?" James nudged Remus, who looked a bit less sour. Peter wasn't stupid, but he got awfully nervous during tests and messed up the simplest things; they'd all tried to help him overcome that for years. It was hard, since Remus was a very strict bookworm and James and Sirius hardly even opened any books for their top marks.

"No it doesn't. It's kind of like my watch, when it reminds me to complete my notes," he admitted just a little grudgingly.

"Only infinitely _betterrrr_." Peter was smug as he put the ring back under his robes. James laughed, but now he was wondering what he had gotten. He'd never opened any of his presents, on account of worrying himself to death… but that was ages ago, and he'd never even thought of it since.

He decided that he'd have to change that.

.

* * *

.

How they made it through the day was lost on James. During class he was distracted, worrying about how the spell work was going back home; between classes he and Remus broke up a few scuffles between students, but he didn't have a mind for pranks, or even doing what Dumbledore had asked him to. Even the insults from the Slytherins washed over him without any reaction whatsoever.

He kept glancing at Remus' watch — which had indeed stopped yelling at them once they actually did what they were supposed to — but that wasn't making time move any faster either.

"I'm going to take a shower," he decided abruptly during lunch, which he had hardly touched. "See you in Charms later."

He didn't notice the figure following him out, until he was yanked into a side passage on the fourth floor.

"What the hell?" James asked, squinting at the blinding light issuing from a wandtip.

"Sorry. But I can't be seen around the likes of you. It's bad for business."

" _Regulus_?"

Regulus lowered his wand. He looked like he, too, needed some holidays from his holidays.

"What do you want?" James shot at him, shoving him away. He had heard that Regulus was actively spreading rumours about Sirius, which put him in the same box as the Death Eaters, and he was instantly incensed.

"I've got a warning for you. They're planning on hexing you, then portkeying you out of here."

"What? _Who_?" James hadn't expected that. Regulus rolled his eyes, scoffing.

"Can you honestly not think of _anyone_ who's itching to do you in?"

James didn't answer; of course he could.

"Why?"

"Because _he_ wants you. And they want to give you to him. Because _he_ didn't get Sirius, like he wanted."

"Yeah, that's got to hurt, doesn't it?" James glared at the younger boy.

"It does," he admitted, but he clearly wasn't talking about Voldemort just then.

"Were you in on it?" James asked coldly.

"No. If I'd known, I'd have told you, like I'm doing now. He _was_ my brother, you know. That counted for something."

James didn't have a comeback to that.

"So look out, yeah? I won't be able to help if you get yourself into trouble. I'm not _him,_ I won't risk it. I won't help them either, but that won't make a difference."

Regulus was gone the next moment, leaving James to worry about one more thing. Or not quite worry. That was too strong a word.

 _Let them try_ , James decided. He'd wanted to kick their collective arses for ages. And thanks to the heads-up, he'd be ready.

Come what may.

.

* * *

.

"…breathing?"

The voice sounded as though it was coming through a few metres of water, muffled and with a strange distorted echo.

"Of course he's breathing, didn't Dumbledore say he'd start on his own like, an hour ago?"

"Well, it doesn't look like it."

"Come closer, then, you'll see." All the voices sounded garbled. It was hard to tell them apart, much less decipher what they were on about.

"Yeah Pete, it's pretty obvious from here, see?"

"What if I messed it up and—"

"Come off it, Wormy," and were these voices _familiar_? Or had he only been hearing them for so long, that it seemed to him that he'd heard them before? Sirius' brain didn't seem to want to cooperate. He decided against pushing it, and he would have decided to go back to sleep if the voices around him would just shut up. But they didn't, and so, he didn't either.

"Your potion was perfect. Didn't you see how _dead_ he looked when we gave it to him?"

"Yeah, Prongs is right. It was a very convincingly dead look."

"Yeah, but shouldn't the effects have passed by now? It's been _days_. And your Mum gave him the antidote this morning. She _told_ me. What if it didn't work?"

"Just give it time…"

 _Wait just a tick._ That last had sounded much clearer.

Sirius' brain decided it was time to stir. While it engaged in callisthenics, Sirius absently wondered where he was now.

"That's right, Prongs. He's looking less waxy, don't you agree?"

For once, Sirius' mind was forthcoming with information. He'd been at James' house, hadn't he? For like, ever, too.

" _Ohmigod_!" One of them suddenly exclaimed.

"What?" The other two voices yelled.

"He moved!"

"What?"

" _When_?"

"Just now!"

"You sure?"

"Yeah, _look_!"

Sirius cracked an eye open. The room he was in was dark, only dimly lit by a few candles. He blinked a few times, into three very blurry, vaguely familiar faces.

 _They're either going to eat me, or they look happy_ , he thought, whilst trying to focus.

"Sirius!" they chorused. "You're awake!"

_Happy, they're happy. Good._

"How are you feeling?"

Sirius watched them blearily for a moment, then screwed his eyes shut as the light increased. The sound quality was better too, he noted.

"Uh…" it was just a whisper, but the faces around him began bobbing up and down, and shoving each other and grinning more widely. "Hi."

Yes. _Definitely familiar_.

"Padfoot, you're back!"

"Yeah, back." Sirius swallowed thickly.

"How are you feeling?" That was James, Sirius was like, seventy per cent certain, even if everything was out of focus. He always repeated questions until he got an answer. But was he really?

He decided he'd try.

"Hi, James."

"Hi yourself." But James looked ecstatic. He was grabbing the other two boys by the shoulders and pushing them closer to the bedside. "Do you know them?"

There was a bit of a tense silence, during which Sirius looked long into the half hopeful, half bracing expressions of two people he knew now, he had missed sorely. Two people he shouldn't have forgotten, but had.

"Yeah," he said at length, and smiled sleepily. "Pete…" at this, the blond Marauder gave a small excited jump. "And… not-Pete." Remus' face fell, and his other friends' smiles wavered.

Sirius smiled a bit more widely, looking at his werewolf friend.

"I'm kidding," he told him, vaguely aware that that just surprised a few months out of them. "You're Remus… and you're… not-Remus."

He let his eyes drift shut, and the next moment, he was fast asleep.

.

* * *

.

When he opened his eyes again, it was light out, sort of. He could see the sun setting through the curtains. Some more people had joined his friends while he wasn't looking. To Sirius, it was as though he'd blinked, and an extra handful of people had appeared out of thin air. One of them, Mrs. P., was closest.

"I missed something, didn't I?" he asked no-one in particular. He felt very thirsty.

"You've missed ever so much, honey," Mrs. P replied, but she was smiling at him, which made things right in so many ways. "Three full days, in fact. It's Saturday. How are you feeling?"

"Dunno."

"Well, does it hurt anywhere?"

"No, Mrs. P."

"That's a start. Boys, give him this, and eat your dinners." Sirius saw some trays float across the room. "I'll get Poppy."

" _Three_ days?" Sirius wondered. It hadn't felt longer than a few minutes.

"Yeah, Padfoot."

"That wasn't nice of you at all," James informed him.

"Why?"

"We had to go to school the day before yesterday, and again yesterday." Remus didn't sound like he minded that too much.

"School?"

"Uh-huh," Pete was examining the contents of a steaming bowl. Sirius wasn't sure what it contained, but his stomach rumbled. "So inconsiderate. I probably failed that quiz."

"Quiz?" Gods, he was in parrot mode today. And so, so _lost_.

"Yes, for History of Magic. Binns did a surprise quiz, and since we've been having kittens over _you,_ I didn't study at all."

"But…" Sirius was so confused. Doubly so, because… "Didn't I make you a ring for that?"

"Yeah, but you didn't put any _answers_ in it!" There was no reproach in Peter's tone, and they all laughed. Sirius managed a smile.

"Need anything, Padfoot?" Ah, James. Ever the dependable one. For catering at least.

"Water."

"So… what was it like?" Remus asked. Upon seeing Sirius' clueless look, he elaborated. "They gave you the Draught of Living Death a few days ago. What was that like?" Sirius thought back on it for a minute. Then he shrugged.

"Like falling asleep," he decided. "Faster and easier than that, even."

"So… you remember _nothing_?"

"Not really. Just that it was nice," Sirius offered. "Kind of like… dunno. It was dark and warm… and _nothing_."

"You don't remember getting up and walking around yesterday?" Remus asked. Had Sirius been more awake, he'd have picked up on the evil glint in his eye. But he was very groggy, so he missed it.

" _Nekkid_ to boot." Peter chimed in matter-of-factly.

"You scared the house elves," James supplied, bringing a glass of water to Sirius' lips and helping him drink it. And was it him or were they trying to hold back laughs?

"You're taking the Mickey." Sirius said, but the water was deliciously fresh and cool, so he focused on that.

"Are we?" Remus asked. Sirius wasn't sure.

" _Are_ we?" Peter leaned forward a bit.

"I..."

"Don't worry about it; my parents and even the elves are used to seeing you in various stages of undress by now." James gave him a light pat on the shoulder, and sat down on the chair closest to the bed. He took the bowl from Peter, and spooned something up for him. "They had to explain things to old McAlpin and Nina, though…"

Sirius felt his heart skip a beat. He stared at James, who held out the spoon, his expression unreadable.

"Don't worry, they didn't seem to mind." James said bracingly, while Sirius was busy coordinating his mouth to chew and swallow without choking on his stew.

" _She_ didn't, at any rate," Peter supplied, and the three of them laughed.

" _Nina_?" Sirius asked. His brain had ground to a halt at the mention of her name, and had he had any more blood in him, he'd have blushed crimson.

"Yeah, she went home, to—"

"Scrub her eyes with Skower's Magical Mess Remover—"

"But she'll be back later."

"Wearing a blinding charm."

"You're lying," Sirius groaned.

"Are we?" Remus and Pete chorused, grinning.

"Here, eat up," James urged.

"What's the hurry?" Sirius wanted to know.

"Poops."

"There's a loo right down the hall."

"He did a funny."

"Eat up, Pads; this is getting all cold and nasty."

"Pete can have it, then."

They chuckled. Pete tried to snatch the stew, claiming it was good stuff, even cold.

"Poops will probably kick us out, but we'll come back tonight if we can," James informed him a while later. "If not, we'll be here tomorrow after Quidditch practice. And don't forget to use your mirror whenever you want."

"I won't," Sirius answered. "Forget, I mean… at least I don't think I will."

"And if you do, we'll remind you."

.

* * *

.

Night had fallen once again, signalling the close to yet another day in the secret war being waged. Unseen by most, the battles were fierce, yet short-lived.

Tonight was no exception.

Voldemort, formerly known as Tom Riddle, smiled with the certainty of victory.

Three houses they had attacked tonight; in Cardiff, Edinburgh and Dover, three Dark Marks were hovering in the sky.

"Ready, my Lord," Yaxley informed. They were on a rooftop, watching the fourth house, where the family of dissidents was getting ready for bed.

By tomorrow, there would be no doubt: if your blood was pure (or pure enough) and you refused the Cause, the consequences would be… inevitable and insurmountable.

"Any word on Bella?" The Dark Lord asked. It was not like her to miss a raid, much less the fourth on the same night.

"No, my Lord. We have not received any messages since…" Lucius trailed off, clearly having learnt his lesson regarding the repetition of known information. "Would you wish to send for her?"

"No, Lucius, I am confident that whatever is keeping her, she shall return as soon as she has dealt with it."

"Yes, my Lord."

"However, I do wish you would send for one Bartleby Trent," the Dark Lord added. "With his corresponding entourage."

"Yes, my Lord. Gladly, my Lord."

One thing might be said about his Death Eaters. They were inspired when it came to fetching him things.

Vase fiasco aside, once they were given a less slippery target, they invariably managed to exceed his expectations.

Voldemort allowed himself a thin, cool smile.

Oh, they would learn, all those wee magical folk of the Kingdom.

Tonight, the lesson the Dark Lord had prepared for those purebreds sitting on the sidelines would be displayed for all to see: the Dark Side was not going away, so better join up while there was still a chance of surviving the invitation.

.

* * *

.

"My Lord!" Bella strode through the hall and bowed low to Voldemort.

"My dear Bellatrix. I have missed you these past few days." Voldemort let Nagini slither down and find herself a snack. "I trust you had good reason."

"I cracked it, My Lord!" She answered excitedly. "It took me days and days, but I found a hole in the defences of Godric's Hall!"

"You did?"

"Yes — the blood-traitors didn't notice — there's an old ward to let in the mail owls," she informed. "It was built on another, which allows pets to come and go as they please, but it was failing and had not been renewed." Bellatrix looked very pleased with herself. "I did so, using a Dark Mark curse on the house's defences."

"How so?" Voldemort was intrigued now.

"It's got a Mimic Charm on it, growing as we speak, corrupting the older wards to bend to your will, my Lord. In just a few days, the snake… Nagini, will be able to enter. She will open the door for us, when the spell has opened the path."

"And when will that happy event occur?"

"This Tuesday going on Wednesday, right after midnight."

Voldemort summoned his calendar, marking Tuesday, the twenty-seventh of January, in red. He put a big X on Wednesday twenty-eighth.

"Good. We shall attack at three in the morning on Wednesday. Get everyone together and let them know; you and I shall visit Godric's Hall tonight and we shall strengthen that spell, together. And when it's ready, we will burn those traitors _alive_."

.

* * *

.

TBC. Reviews welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Sirius gets better, Narcissa does her bit, and things get better before they get worse, and worse yet before they get… even worse.


	12. Christmas in January

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Loads more reading than before, it's over 14k words, my apologies but I got carried away. Also, Christmas makes a reappearance, Snape works weekends, James becomes a pacifist, Sirius gets babied, James is happy, Snape is too, Voldemort is notoriously absent … but don't worry, he'll come back soon. I know we all love to hate him. Also, the old old contingent gossips. A lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Since at this point I'm straying from canon quite a bit, and getting into the Time AU… Some is mine. Most isn't. If you've read this far, you know which is which.

* * *

**Part Twelve: Christmas in January**

**Or**

**Like Nobody's Business**

* * *

.

Severus was happy.

Scratch that last — he was _giddy_ , even though he had hardly slept these past few days, sneaking into Potions dungeon 5 every chance he had to brew his revenge on that conceited toerag Potter.

Literally.

He was presently in a dank, dimly-lit dungeon, which had fallen into disuse decades earlier due to the humidity that constantly dripped down the walls. This was because the dungeon was very close to the Oubliettes of the castle, another of Salazar's design quirks — and flaws — but one that had served the likes of the Princes, such as himself, for generations.

Nobody bothered to come here, and Severus had long ago made this his very private corner of the world.

This was also part of the reason he always had a stale laundry sort of smell about him. The other, larger reason for his trademark aroma was that he just disliked bathing.

Not that it mattered just now; his potions were coming along nicely, and though most of the other students in the castle were taking advantage of this Saturday morning to sleep in or fool around on the grounds, Severus wouldn't ever choose to be anywhere else but here.

That pig-headed idiot Potter would finally _pay_.

 _He_ was the reason for his falling-out with Lily, who had —naively so — decided to give Black the benefit of the doubt. She'd said that she believed Potter over _him_ , her longtime friend.

So he'd called her a Mudblood. A filthy Mudblood, at that.

To him, that wasn't anything other than being honest. He loved her to bits, would happily jump into an active volcano for her… but she was tainted goods, beneath him in every way.

And yet…

He'd had a crush on her forever. What was it that they said about forbidden love? Severus pondered the matter for a few moments, crushing two ashwinder fangs into dust.

 _Ah, who cares_.

He added the powdered fangs to one potion, which made the cauldron's contents froth and threaten to overboil, turning his mind to other imagery instead.

How Potter would feel as the poison took hold, for example. That piece of crud wouldn't survive very long without the antidote, which he was also brewing — the Dark Lord could use it to hold sway over Potter for years that way — so that Potter wouldn't die outright. He would feel his insides burning, his every sinew and muscle superheating as though it were on fire, for the rest of his life. Or five years, whichever happened first. Only daily doses of the antidote would help.

He would be at Severus' mercy at long last, _begging_ him — and this was what he was looking forward to the most — for release from the pain. Severus would — maybe — give it to him, but he would demand, _demand_ , that Potter do such humiliating things in exchange.

Severus grinned, baring yellow, crooked teeth.

He had thought the year had ended on the happiest of notes when he was asked to impersonate Black for the Dark Lord. Had been delighted — although it had hurt quite a bit, to turn into that scum — to see how the Dark Side had done him up. He had celebrated the news of Black's death as the best Boxing Day in his life.

Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

But this new year was looking so promising! He had never dreamt that Black's own brother would create this unexpected opportunity to get his revenge on Potter too!

And it was nearly ready.

This time tomorrow, he would have the poison, the antidote, and one more potion, which caused the recipient to break out in a myriad cuts and gashes. He'd use that one as a backup; one could never be too confident, after all.

Oh, but how the mighty would fall.

.

* * *

.

"Have ye got any beer?" Angus broke the silence their little group had lapsed into. They were all exhausted, occupying the vast kitchen of the Potter household with varying degrees of sleepiness; these went from exhausted to _what-am-I-doing-here_.

Since Thursday, they'd been treated to the Potter hospitality, working almost without pause, and they'd all relapsed on old, familiar patterns. By now, everyone was helping themselves to anything they needed; even James and his friends came and went on their own, making up detentions dished out by Remus left and right, without even bothering to earn them at all.

Nobody, not even Albus or Minerva, had left Godric's Hall for days, and they wouldn't until morning, if (and only if) Poppy declared Sirius was improving.

Angus hoped he was; they couldn't keep this pace up for much longer.

On top of that, Alastor Moody had warned them of a series of raids that the Dark Side had executed in the night, and the five witches and wizards gathered around the Potters' ancient kitchen table were all on Voldemort's most wanted list. It would be foolish to leave in the dead of night.

Coop shrugged one shoulder, waving his hand vaguely towards the Muggle ice box thing in the corner.

"I think there's some left over in the fridge somewhere." Angus knew that Coop didn't keep alcohol in the house as a rule, on account of housing two teenage boys over the holidays who would be wild to get their hands on the stuff. Usually the strongest thing in the house was wine and butterbeer. For the kids.

However, they'd all needed a pick-me-up lately, and the boys didn't have a mind for sneaking into the liquor anyhow. One was too worried and cracking at the seams, the other was barely alive, and the cause for their exhaustion, so they'd stocked up the other day - and had all but depleted such stock..

Seventy-six hours they had worked without much pause, to undo a weave of spells so intricate, so delicate, it was almost a miracle that they had succeeded. In Angus' eyes, it _had_ been a miracle.

Everything had come together just _so_ , allowing them to find strands of Memory Charms tangled with old curses, new curses, hexes and remnants of potions that threw the proverbial wrench in the spokes, which would have been impossible without their combined expertise and that of old Alphard — who had come over twice, to help them untangle some of the darker magic, and for whom alone it would have been foolish to stay beyond what was strictly necessary, so he'd left immediately after.

That they were too tired to even feel accomplishment over their feat, Angus suspected had more to do with age. His long years had never weighed on him as they did now.

And that was the underlying feeling in the room, wasn't it?

They all felt _old_.

If any of them asked their kids (even if some had never been parents, they all had a hand in raising the next generation), the bairns would all say without a doubt, that they _were_ old, get a clue, or whatever the trend was these days. But Angus, and he was sure, most of the friends sharing in the weary silence now, had seldom, if ever, really _felt_ _old_ before.

As if to rub it in, Albus spoke as Angus sat back down, a Muggle ale in hand.

"How is Holly faring?"

Angus snorted, but he adored his Squib daughter, the youngest, liveliest of his brood.

"She's doing good," he replied, taking a swig. "Loves New York to bits. Says it's the scene down there, whatever the hell that means. _Uni_ ," he grinned. Holly was in her late twenties, and happy studying a Muggle Art major. "Who'd have believed it, eh? She's all grown up. Fitting in with the Muggles. _Safe_." Unlike his other kids, who were busy raising their own families and battling the forces of evil. Angus sighed. "I've told her to keep a low profile, but she's stubborn."

Betty and Coop chuckled as one.

"We know the feeling," Coop told him.

"Doubly now," Betty added, and they all joined in. "Honestly, I cannot thank you all enough for your help."

"Its gladly done," Albus answered for them all. "I hope he'll make a swift recovery now."

"Tell me about it," Betty replied. "I keep wanting to go ask Poppy, but…"

"She'd just kick ye out," Angus answered. "And then she wouldn't tell ye, just to make ye suffer."

"She does do that," Albus grinned. "But there is no better Healer in the country."

"So, you adopted him?" Minerva wanted to know next.

"We did," Coop confirmed. "James was over the moon when he heard."

"Which he celebrated by putting gluing charms on three out of every four girls' toilet seats," the head of Gryffindor said dryly, to the amusement of her old friends. "I remember. How did Sirius take it?"

"He doesn't know yet," was the reply. "Honestly, we aren't sure how he'd take it. He knows he can stay here for good… but his reaction to that was a bit overwhelming."

"We aren't sure if he can weather another meltdown once he finds out he's officially part of the family," Betty added to Coop's comment.

"I should think it good news," said Minerva, frowning, but Coop just shrugged.

"Minnie… you just don't know," he told her. "He's making progress, but… He thought it was _common_ for parents to cast Unforgivables on their children to punish them. I asked him why he thought we didn't punish James like that, and he didn't have an answer."

"Oh. Oh, _Wow_."

"Yes… we're having to adapt to a lot."

"Not unlike Angus," Betty turned the topic over to their friend. "How do _you_ feel, housing a teenager again after so long?"

"It's harder than I thought. Lassie's been through hell too, and at least ye have known Sirius for years. I only just met her six months ago," Angus reminded them. "I didn't even know she existed... And we are only starting to trust each other."

"Will you send her to Hogwarts?"

Angus shook his head.

"Not if I can help it, Albus."

"She would be safe there."

"Aye… but she would be far from home. She's my cousin Hamish's youngest bairn. Another sob story of this blasted bloody war. And I don't trust _him_ not to be after her if he learns she survived, just to complete the job."

"That's what he does, Angus. All we can do is pull together against him."

"But surely…" Minerva added to Albus' last, "surely you see the sense in sending her to school? Voldemort wouldn't _dare_ attacking us in his wildest dreams, and…" she shook her head, but didn't voice her thoughts. They were echoing in each head already: Voldemort _would_ attack their homes. It was just a matter of time before he did; Alastor had told them as much earlier.

"Aye, don't think I haven't heard that one before, Minnie; you ought to hear her arguments on the matter. She _wants_ to go to Hogwarts; it's like her life depends on it."

"Why not let her? You're not fearing she'll be a Slytherin?" Coop's eyes were dancing, and Angus laughed with them all.

"Oh, she _could_ be one if she set her mind to it, ye should hear some of the arguments she comes up with."

"Chiefly that she's got a _serious_ reason to go?" Betty guessed. They laughed again; nobody had missed how smitten the girl was with the newest addition to the Potter family. Or how it was reciprocal.

"Aye, it's as if those two had known each other for years. Don't get me wrong, I thank Alfie and the heavens for introducing them over the summer; she was a wreck when she came to Dal Riada, but that lad helped us pull her out of it faster than anything." Which he _was_ immensely thankful for; he'd never have believed he'd _ever_ think this, but really, if Nina became the first McAlpin to fall for a Black, he _wouldn't_ consider it the end of the world. Until his own friendship with Alphard, both Houses had been fierce enemies for over a thousand years. Mostly because the McAlpins were the First High House. The Blacks had always hated being second to anyone.

Angus shook his head, sighing.

"Eh, I don't know. Dal Riada is safe enough, and some of yer students Albus… they're all but Death Eaters already."

"They aren't _quite_ there yet," Albus shook his silvery locks. "I refuse to give up on them. On any of them."

"I'm sorry for not sharing yer confidence," Angus countered. "I'm not sure if I want my lass to risk finding out which side they're on."

"Even if they were," Minerva argued, " _you_ are a target, Angus. She _wouldn't_ be safer in Dal Riada. Not as things stand."

"I intend to pull out of the fight," Angus replied. Five shocked stares met this statement.

"Kenneth told me that he will fight, as did Rob, and Marie," Angus elaborated, his Scottish lilt intensifying; he was upset. "That's all that is left of our House, our Clan. I have a duty to protect it, and Nina is the future of that Clan. _Merlin_ , Rob could die, and Kenneth, and _Marie_ and their own branches… and the War could even find Holly, God forbid. I shall aid ye as ye may need, but I shall not risk open battle unless it's unavoidable. One of us must protect the future; I cannae do that from the grave."

"None of us can," Coop said darkly, and Angus couldn't miss the worry lining his face. It hadn't left him, ever since he'd seen what was in that accursed Pensieve. "But… the War is upon us, and I fear it shall not be us, but _them_ , who will see it to its end… and we need to be ready for that."

"What did you see that has you so out of sorts?" Minerva asked what they were all wondering. Coop looked down.

"I saw," he said heavily, "how old Tom operates. He _isn't_ in a hurry, Angus. He's capable of torturing an innocent child for _years_ , on a whim, just to get his way. It's not just about Sirius, or James, it's — it's _all of them_. He wants _all of them_ under his thumb."

"Thank the gods Sirius didn't give him what he wanted."

"He paid dearly for it," Coop said in the same dark tone. "As you saw. But he didn't give an inch; if he had, we would have been overrun before Christmas. And from what I saw, Sirius won't keep his head down. Neither will James. Not even now."

"Did he tell you that?" Albus wanted to know. Coop shook his head.

"He told _him_. And then he followed through with it. And what I saw with James… they'll fight, alright."

"I know what ye mean," Angus told him. "Nina is just like that as well, itching for revenge."

"What do you suggest?" Albus asked, watching his old friends keenly.

"They need to be taught how to defend themselves," Coop replied. "This isn't like it was with Grindelwald, Albus. Voldemort is worse; he's a power-hungry, bigoted, unfeeling _psychopath_. At least Gellert had a heart… _he_ never went after a child. But what I saw…" Coop swallowed back his horror, shook his head. "Voldemort has no pity. And if he can, he'll tear into our young with a smile and _enjoy_ ripping them limb from limb before our eyes."

A collective shudder ran through them all. As a rule, they avoided speaking about the risks of the war so openly, but Coop was right; they couldn't just protect the kids anymore. They needed to teach them how to protect themselves.

"And ye ask why I want Nina hidden until this is over?" Angus asked, draining his beer and aiming for the bin in the corner.

"You should send her to school." Betty's face was ashen, but she was determined.

"Don't you want to pull your boys _out_?"

"Oh yes, if that meant they'd be safe and live happy lives, in a _blinking_." Betty heaved a sigh. "But they need _each other,_ and that is no different from every other child at Hogwarts. Isolation is costing us this war, and I hate to think it, but if _you're_ gone, Angus, who will she turn to? Who will they turn to if, rather _when_ , we _all_ are gone?"

It was like a kick in the gut.

"Put that way…"

"James and his friends have taken a liking to her," Betty went on. "Never mind Sirius, he clearly is head over heels and bless him, he doesn't even _know_ it yet. But if I know _anything_ about those four boys, is that they won't desert her, just as they won't desert each other, no matter what may come." She paused for a moment, then added, "Much as I would love to take my boys far away, I agree with Minerva. There's no place safer than Hogwarts. Let them be children a while longer, let them learn how to become adults without fear."

"And join the Order?" Albus asked quietly.

Coop and Betty exchanged a glance. Then Coop smiled with resignation.

"If you don't offer them a spot, they'll probably come up with their own Order within a week of graduating and beat you to the drawl."

"Oh yeah," Angus added with a grin, "with fancy solemn oaths for every little thing."

" _Poppy_!" Betty exclaimed, all but jumping to her feet. Everyone turned to the doorway, which the Hogwarts nurse was walking through.

"Well," Poppy said moments later, sipping gratefully on some tea. "It worked, whatever you did. He's still weak, but he's recovering at last."

A generalised sigh of relief was heard.

"I wouldn't expect him to get up and walk around for a few days yet, but I managed to heal more tonight than I have in one month, and I am confident that he'll make a full recovery within a fortnight," she said, "unless, that is, you have any other _activities_ planned for him, Headmaster?" She hadn't forgiven him for the memory fiasco yet.

"No, Poppy," Albus said sheepishly. "No, ah, activities."

"Good. I'll best get going, who knows what happened in that castle while I wasn't looking."

.

* * *

.

Sirius woke up, drenched in a cold sweat. Heart hammering, he sat up in his bed — it came much easier than he remembered last — and looked around. He was alone, in the humongous bedroom he and James shared now. But James wasn't here. He was at school, wasn't he, sleeping in Gryffindor Tower. Or he ought to be; it was the middle of the night.

He wasn't quite sure what he had missed during those three days he'd been out of it, but his head, so unhelpful for so long, seemed to be working again and trying to make up for lost time. He was aware that he'd just had a nightmare — I _t was just a bad dream and nothing more, Padfoot, get a grip_ — which in itself was an improvement; not the nightmare as such, but at least he _knew_ it was a dream, that the horrible things in it were nothing more than his mind showing him re-runs of the past.

Sirius knew now, where and when he was, but the nasty sensation of the dream lingered far beyond waking.

There was something else, too. He couldn't put a finger on it, but he felt… dread, of a sort quite unrelated to the dream he'd just managed to escape. There was nothing to suggest a threat here, however; his conscious — or hyperconscious — mind was telling him that.

His instinct, though, was another beast altogether.

His instinct was, not screaming, not _yet,_ but tingling and warning him of an impending attack. Or _something_ , he couldn't quite make out what.

He had been a gigantic dog for a little over two years now, and never had his instinct led him astray before. If anything, his recent brush — brushes, nothing less — with death had sharpened it… and now he was well enough, or at least _aware_ enough, to pay attention to the slightest shift in his canine senses, he didn't dismiss or ignore it, never mind what his human brain was telling him: which was, quite simply, that he was losing it.

He'd known that last since he'd entered his lost memories. He had become aware of his dubious sanity once he woke up earlier and found that could remember it _all_ once more, in vivid detail.

It wasn't exactly news, not anymore.

He was also aware that he needed to come to terms with that, and the more he recalled, the harder it was. Just the first question he asked himself was enough to drive him round the bend: _Why_?

Sirius might be a lot of things, but he wasn't a liar, and he wasn't about to start now. Much less to himself. He knew what his shortcomings were, could name them all, and he also knew that he wouldn't swallow back this sensation and hide from the world, no matter how tempting it was to go guano.

He reached for the glass of water next to his bed and drained it in a few swigs. This helped his body wake up further, and freshened up his senses. Sirius focused on the canine ones — those he _could_ , actually, trust — and a moment of concentration later, his perception shifted fully into the dog's.

He picked apart sounds — someone was having a grave-sounding discussion downstairs — but none suggested anything out of the ordinary; his nose was, however, far more helpful: past the smells left behind by everyone who'd visited his room, past the pungent healing salves and potions and that ever-overflowing laundry basket — James had been right, it was _toxic_ — in the corner, Sirius sniffed something that sent his every fibre into high alert.

He smelled _farts_.

Not that he found the smell as such enough to dread it (though Pete's sometimes could be frightening), but this was a _special_ fart smell. Acrid, rotten, penetrating even if it was faint, too faint to worry about just yet, that was how his canine mind identified the smell of Dark Magic.

His conscious, very much human mind told him it was probably a remnant of the battles of the previous month, or even something he'd himself exuded during those awful healing sessions, but his dog mind processed it as a _fresh_ fart, not an old one, which contradicted what his human mind was saying.

In this, the dog's mind helped too; he was a born watchdog, after all. His canine brain said, 'wait, watch, then figure it out,' so that was exactly what Sirius did, coming to a conclusion both the dog and human in him could agree on: no need to panic _just yet_.

He got out of bed, not bothering to turn on the lights or call external help in; most of his major aches were gone by now, and though nothing about him seemed to want to respond, he managed a slow, unsteady shuffle to the loo.

"You look like hell, kid," the mirror told him once he'd reached the sink, and looking at himself, Sirius couldn't but agree. Someone — Mrs. P, probably — had cut his hair, but it did little to offset the pallor of his face or the sharply contrasting scars he could see on his scalp and neck when he turned to inspect them on the mirror. So _that_ was why James was constantly on about him hitting his head, then.

His eyes were sunken in, and he'd lost a lot of weight. James' parents had been right, he was indeed nearly as thin as a skeleton. But, he mused, at least he was alive. James would be happy; he _was_ keeping his promise, however reluctant his body seemed to be on helping him stay that way.

Sirius didn't go back to bed for a long time; he didn't stop to inspect the rest of himself, either — that could wait, and part of him didn't really want to find out what all was wrong with him; even now, some new things seemed to have popped up, such as the thick padding around his right hand, which was throbbing sharply. He couldn't remember it being there before, even though now he knew he remembered _everything_.

What he did do, as he told a surprised Mrs. P later that night, was look out the window.

He didn't draw the curtains, choosing to peer out of a gap between the windowpane and fabric instead; he was giving in to instinct and watching… and waiting, for the fart smell to grow sharp enough to warrant action.

.

* * *

.

Betty excused herself from her longtime friends, deciding she couldn't go another minute without checking on her surrogate son. Poppy had left for Hogwarts an hour earlier, and though the nurse had declared him much improved, she just _missed_ him. When he finally was well enough to go to school, it would be a harsh parting.

She couldn't believe her eyes when she eased the door to the boys' room open: Sirius was standing by the large window, leaning against the wall.

"Honey?" she asked tentatively, wondering if he had sleepwalked. It _was_ possible, with him anything was, lately… but he wasn't asleep, she realised when he gave a start and turned to look at her.

"Hullo, Mrs. P."

"What are you doing out of bed?" She hurried to his side, hadn't Poppy said he'd be too weak to stand for another handful of days?

"I was just… looking outside," he answered, allowing her to help him lie back down. "I'm okay," he assured her next, and Betty laughed a little, tucking him in warmly and sitting down on the bed next to him.

"It's just so _strange_ to see you up," she admitted, kissing his forehead. "Are you feeling better?" He nodded, a little hesitantly. When was he going to learn that he didn't have to pretend he was okay all the time?

"Well," Betty fell back on a routine that had evolved over the past few weeks. "Does it hurt anywhere?"

"Everywhere," he answered. "But it's not bad. It's just my hand that hurts a lot."

"Let me fix that for you," she said, measuring out a dose of Ache-Away. "Angus said it might hurt on and off for a while, and not to use it if you can help it," she explained after she'd helped him drink. "Turns out, all the curses and spells that were stuck in your system, anchored there for some reason."

"Did they get them all?"

"They did; it took them such a long time, too."

"There wasn't anything that would make me…" Sirius trailed off, hunting for the words. Betty waited, too used to his slow thought processes to be impatient. In the end, Sirius settled for, "hurt you or James, or Mr. P?"

"None that stuck, no," she told him gently. "There were a few spells that seemed to have that purpose, but you never did anything to any of us, sweetie."

"I _wouldn't_." He sounded unsure, though.

"You wouldn't, not ever," she confirmed, smiling. "You're too sweet to hurt anyone, honey."

Sirius seemed amused by what she'd said. Betty didn't think anyone had ever called him any of those things but her, which was why she never missed a chance to do it. He let her, too, always breaking out in a smile when she did.

"Oh, I know you like to act all die-hard and tough as nails," she added fondly, "but I _know_ you, Sirius Black. You're all squishy sweetness inside."

"There I was, thinking I was all guts and glory inside," he answered, making her laugh.

"Yes, honeyed guts and gooey sweet glory. Are the aches all gone?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Mrs. P."

"What woke you up?" She asked him next, helping him drink some sleeping tea.

"Bad dream."

"If you have one again, call us or clap for an elf to get us, alright?"

"It's just dreams," he answered. "And… and you don't need to come running every five minutes, Mrs. P. It's fine. Really."

"But I _like_ hugging you, pumpkin." Sirius laughed a little at that, like he couldn't believe he was letting her get away with comparing him to an oversized orange squash, and Betty drew him into a hug. Sirius slumped against her, warm and heavy. "Besides," she added with a grin, "it makes James _jealous_."

"Nice."

"Oh _yes_. It is."

.

* * *

.

While Betty was indulging herself and mothering her surrogate kid, in the kitchen Coop had unearthed a bottle of aged wine, to celebrate their victory.

"That's definitely a weight off," he said with satisfaction. The news Poppy had given them had raised all their spirits, and the foursome in the kitchen revelled in it for a while.

"Nina will be over the moon," Angus said in a happy sort of growl. "I've half a mind to wake her up and tell her now."

"Oh, _please_ don't," Minerva groaned over the rim of her goblet, "I don't think I can handle another teenager just now."

"Bear in mind we actually have to deal with their kind every day," Albus chuckled. "All five hundred and twenty-three of them."

"Yes, and _that_ only works out because it's scheduled," Minerva added wryly. "There's a reason we strictly enforce a nine o'clock curfew."

"Don't worry, Angus, in the morning we'll tell her you single-handedly saved him," Coop quipped. "She'll love you for it." Angus grinned.

"As I did; all you did all this time was wave your wands around and cast silly spells."

Betty returned, slumping into her chair and snatching Coop's glass for herself.

"Thank you, darling."

"Everything all right?"

"Sort of. He was awake, and forget what Poppy said, he was up and about. I'm not sure that tea we're giving him is really helping much anymore."

"We'll tell Poppy tomorrow," Albus promised, and Betty sighed.

"I'm going to _miss_ him so much, when he goes back."

"By all means, keep him a little longer," Minerva said at once. "I'm almost dreading his return. The Gryffindors will go wild… as will most of the girls of every other House."

"I would if I could," Betty was smiling, but she looked apprehensive. "I'm dreading what the Ministry will do once they learn he's alive."

"Yes, it's hard to forget that nonsense about the Muggle girl."

"Not nonsense," Coop corrected. "He _was_ there when she died."

"But surely he didn't kill her."

"No; it was one of the Lestranges. Tried to hit him, hit the girl instead."

"They'll still want to hold him until the trial," Betty told them. "And he's in no way fit to be put through that."

"True," Albus said, "but they won't, not as long as he's at Hogwarts when the Ministry learns of his survival, and if we vouch for him, they won't be able to take him into custody, on account that he's a minor. The MLE might want to get a hold of him during the hearing, however. I'll ask Alastor to be the one in charge of him."

"Is there any chance they could find him guilty? There are many Mugwumps who support Voldemort, or at least the Pureblood cause."

"We could show them Sirius' memory. Or use Veritaserum," Coop suggested. "There's no way even the most corrupt court could find him guilty."

"Unless they want to charge him for underage magic in front of Muggles."

"But that was clearly self-defence."

"There's always something, isn't there?" Angus shook his head.

"Welcome to parenthood in the seventies, old friend. Ever since the Rolling Stones and the Beatles, there is _always_ something."

.

* * *

.

When he woke up next, it was light out. Sirius opened his eyes, squinting blearily at the ceiling for a moment, before he tried to sit up.

"You're awake!" startled him, even though he should be getting used to those words first thing. He'd heard a variation of them every day after all, like they couldn't believe he was still capable of opening his eyes.

Not that he blamed them; he half couldn't believe he was capable of it either, but yelling, 'I'm awake!' all surprised like, would be a bit too much.

Upon seeing who, exactly, was there, he broke into a smile that was neither forced nor fake.

Nina was getting out of her chair, putting her _Daily Prophet_ down and looking blurry, but…

 _Gorgeous_.

Wait. Sirius frowned.

 _What_?

"Um. Hi. Morning," Sirius told her, passing a hand over his eyes. Everything was out of focus when he woke, but Poops had assured him that it would fade gradually, and that he shouldn't worry and wait for his sight to clear up on his own. When his eyes finally decided to cooperate, he found it was worth the wait; Nina was giving him a dazzling smile, and though her ash brown hair was tousled and she was in her nightclothes and a bathrobe, he couldn't have asked for a nicer welcome committee.

His insides were sort of squirming at the sight. It was maybe a new one, but he found it wasn't a bad sensation at all.

"I'm sorry I missed you last night," she said, sitting on his bedside and pulling him into a hug, taking much care not to squish anything that hurt. It surprised him, but it was _nice_.

 _Very_.

She smelled like flowers. Spring flowers.

He decided he liked that smell. And the hug; who knew they could be so… ruddy _addictive_?

Not that he'd never gotten hugged before; it _happened_ , especially of late, but he'd discovered that there were hugs, and then there were _hugs_.

At school, girls liked hugging him — and doing other things to him as well, some of which he enjoyed a _lot_ — but they always seemed clingy, as though instead of giving him a hug, they were _taking_ it from him. He didn't like those, and his family hadn't ever really been the hugging kind — three feet away at all times, unless it was to punish him for something — so he'd generally avoided, even _disliked_ physical contact of this kind before.

But then, he'd come _here_.

He'd learnt there was more to it than all that. And secretly, he couldn't get enough of it: not Mrs. P's hour-long embraces, which made him feel like he was four years old again and nothing could ever touch him; not Mr. P's slightly more gruff ones, which made him feel stronger, supported; and definitely not _this_ , which he couldn't define at all, and which made his gut wiggle most pleasantly.

"I had to go home and spend some time with Aunt Jeanie, and when I came back you were still asleep. Uncle Angus only told me you'd finally woken up a little while ago."

"You didn't miss anything," Sirius assured her. He decided he _liked_ getting hugs from her. Now if she did belly rubs too… _ye gods_.

_Er._

_Where'd_ that _come from?_

"I don't think I was awake long enough to make it worth mentioning. I'm just sorry it took so long."

"I'm just glad it's _over_ ," she answered, pulling away to look at him, her overwhelmingly blue eyes boring into his, as though she could see through him. Sirius stared right back, finding he could quite happily stay this way, forever.

 _Gods, those eyes_ …

"They took _ages_ to finish undoing those awful spells. How are you feeling?" she asked him at length, apparently satisfied with what she'd seen.

"Better." And for once, it wasn't a lie.

"Can you remember stuff now?"

"Even the stuff I'd rather forget all over," he confirmed with a nod, but then he saw her expression tilt a little too much towards the upset end of the spectrum, and shrugged dismissively. "But there's loads more that I wouldn't want to forget for the world, so it's a fair cop."

"Like what?" she asked him curiously, already busying herself with the water jar and pouring out a glass, which she offered him. She was a mind reader!

"Like… you know that day we were trying to ride Nessie…" she nodded, grimacing most fetchingly, so he added, "… and she threw you into the moat."

"Of all the things you had to remember, it had to be _that_? I was covered in seaweed and muck, and smelled like…"

"Rotting old shrimp," he supplied helpfully. "But it looked good on you," he assured her with a grin.

"I'll have to call uncle Angus. Your memory is still faulty. I couldn't get the stink off me for _days_."

"Yeah, neither could I."

Nina laughed, and he smiled all the wider.

Sirius also remembered _why_ he'd come up with the — intentionally foolish — idea of riding Angus' moat pet — most widely known as the Loch Ness monster, who lived in the Dal Riada moat when it wasn't busy causing speculation among Muggles — and it made the memory even more worthwhile; he'd been trying to cheer her up, hadn't he, and it had _worked_. Even if they both had ended up stinking to high heavens out of it.

It was also the first time he'd seen her laugh, _truly_ laugh. And he'd known right then, he'd do anything just to see that again, as often as he could. She had this _thing_ sometimes, when she'd sort of be miles away all of a sudden, radiating a kind of deep sadness he couldn't endure for any length of time; it was made worse because he often felt the same way, and so he had made it his mission to get her out of that rut, in the only way he knew. The way James had done for him for years, and still did.

"Well… I also remembered other things."

"Don't you _dare_ mention the food fi —"

"When you got Rob with that pie instead of me…"

"Only because you ducked," she argued, but her eyes were dancing with amusement.

"Or because you have terrible aim," Sirius stated. "Honestly, either works."

"Seriously, I'll talk to Angus. I'm sure he can erase a few of those embarrassing moments from your head."

" _Seriously_?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Oh— you're impossible. _That_ got old about five minutes in."

"It _seriously_ never gets old."

.

* * *

.

They read the paper, which announced that the famous Auror Alastor Moody had lost an eye in a fierce battle trying to stop Voldemort and his followers from completing a murder spree in a failed raid that had claimed the lives of five Aurors, and four pureblood families had been killed.

Sirius regretted reading the thing. Not just because it was upsetting— because it _was_ — but he knew that Nina's family had been murdered, and that she'd narrowly escaped death by hiding in the wreckage of their house in Germany. He knew what the Dark Side did to dissidents; he'd had it done to him; but what she had been through must be so much worse. Just like he'd feel if Voldemort came and killed the Potters right in front of him.

Gah. Now they were _both_ upset.

He didn't quite know how to change the subject, and luckily he didn't have to. Mrs. P came in and made a point of checking his bandages and things, letting Nina know that Angus wanted her to come with him to visit Moody at the hospital, so she left to get ready while Mrs. P cleaned out his wounds and changed his bandages.

They had breakfast together, and a much cleaner, nicer-smelling Nina filled him in on most of what he'd missed over the past few days, which was almost nothing, according to her, while feeding him—

Sirius realised halfway through his meal, that he had no clue what he was eating.

He didn't care. She could feed him rotten shrimp and he'd totally eat it.

"It was… just a bunch of age-old blokes arguing among themselves for hours on end and then taking turns to cast like, a _bagillion_ spells," she told him, cutting up what he now saw was a full English and offering him a bite. "Oh, and I met your Transfiguration teacher, she was here too. And Alfie came over twice, when they got stumped, but he always left right after."

"He would," Sirius answered. "They're all watching him like hawks, I bet." And warming though it was, he knew what Alphard was risking, going against Voldemort, never mind his sister.

"Do you recall any of that?"

"Nothing. I mean, it was like you said, I didn't feel a thing. It was as though I'd just blinked, and suddenly it was three days later."

"To me it was like an aeon," she told him. "And you looked so… _dead_. It was the worst bit. We were all worried you wouldn't wake up, Peter especially. He made the potion for you."

"Oh yeah… he's always been an overexcitable little fellow. You met them, then?"

"Yeah. They're exactly as you said." Nina took Sirius' empty juice goblet from his hand. "Except for James. He was… all out of sorts, he was really worried for you."

"He does that." Sirius' eyes rose to meet hers, but he didn't have words to explain.

For the longest time, James had been one of just a bare handful of people whom he'd known cared about him. Sirius had recently discovered that that number had nearly doubled now; he was _lucky_ , in more ways than he'd ever known, and he was immensely grateful for each of them, but _James_ …

James was the one person who had made life worth _living_. He still did that, every time he came over.

"What do you think of them, then?"

"The infamous Marauders?" Nina pretended to think for a moment, but her intense blue eyes were sparkling. "I think that they're awesome. It's impossible to be bummed out around the three of them. There's so much more to them than meets the eye, too," she added, giving Sirius a look that had his insides doing that funny writhing thing again. He didn't want her to ever stop looking at him like she was; like she could see _through_ him; like she could see what he was really like, even at his worst… and like she didn't mind any of it, at all. "Just like you."

"Me? I'm an open book!"

"Yeah, written in like, invisible ink."

"No, no. What you see is what you _get_."

"Oh, so it's in code, too," Nina grinned. "But that's okay. I like a challenging read."

.

* * *

.

Sunday morning dawned bright and crisp and, although he'd been jolted awake by a nightmare in the middle of the night, James felt that it was a fantastic day after he talked to his Mum and Dad over the Floo. He shoved Remus and Peter out of bed bright and early, making the other Fifth Year Gryffindor boys groan their annoyance on the matter.

"C'mon, we have detention to go to," he announced, as though detention were the best treat _ever_ to look forward to on a freezing Sunday morning. He had cancelled Quidditch practice, on account of their newest Beater still being rather unsteady on his feet, and rushed his friends through their morning routine, their showers, and their breakfast, annoying them even though they _were_ hurrying up as requested.

"You're _quite done_ , yeah, Pete?" James prodded, bobbing up and down like a slinky on steroids.

"Lemme finish, _sheesh_."

"I want to go already!"

"We noticed, Prongs." Remus had shaken off his bad mood from the past few days, and was back to his usual soft-spoken, mild-mannered self. "Why are you rushing us, then?"

"Because," James lowered his voice conspiratorially, "it's _Christmas_."

"Er." Remus said, raising an eyebrow. "You're aware what day it is, right?"

"Um." Pete added. "That."

James grinned at his friend's expressions, shrugging both his shoulders.

"I told Mum earlier, over the Floo, she's having the elves get everything ready," he whispered. "Since we all had a shitty Christmas of it, or none at all, we're trying it again today. She said _he_ may even be well enough to go downstairs."

"That's brilliant," Pete exclaimed, jumping to his feet, and lowering his voice after. "But what will we do for presents?"

"Hogsmeade," James answered matter-of-factly. "We'll nip out there before we go. They're expecting us for lunch."

"Let's go do that detention, then," Remus agreed, grinning, and together the three Marauders set off to the passage on the third floor, looking to everyone, insanely happy to go to be punished.

At the Slytherin table, Narcissa and Severus were watching them with undisguised loathing.

"Nutters," he muttered with disgust. Narcissa nodded, then sighed.

"Do you know who they have detention with?" She asked. "We need to catch Potter alone."

"Or maybe not," Snape answered, leaning closer to her, oblivious to the fact that the young witch leaned away from him as he did. "It's ready. All we need to do is pour some into his food tonight at dinner." He showed her a tiny phial, filled with a dark purple liquid.

"We'll need a distraction," she told him, but she was smiling her approval.

"Leave it to me," Snape answered, yellow, crooked teeth flashing at her in a grin.

.

* * *

.

At noon, the three Marauders made their way jauntily to the Come-and-Go Room, near which the Headmaster was waiting, rocking back and forth on his heels and examining a painting of a knight charging into battle.

"Ah, boys," he said with a twinkling smile as they arrived, laden with bags full of presents and assorted things they felt were called for. "Right on time for Christmas lunch. Have you met Sir Cadogan?"

The three Marauders grinned at him, nodding and waving at the knight, who made his horse rear up in greeting.

"Merry Christmas, professor!"

Moments later, they were dusting themselves off, racing each other to get to Sirius' bedroom, and skidded to an abrupt halt before the door. Instantly, a change went through them; their rambunctiousness was gone, replaced by a sort of forced calm. They didn't want to startle the current occupant, after all, and what if he was sleeping?

He wasn't; he was staring at the paper, a quill in hand. He'd always liked the crosswords; it was a guilty pleasure of his.

Otherwise, they found Sirius as they'd left him, pretty much, but even the pensive expression on his face wasn't enough to make their moods flag; they soared instead, when they saw him look up and his face light up moments later.

"Hullo," he said, surprised, "I thought you wouldn't come until later."

 _Yes! Recognition within three seconds!_ And he had no clue of what would follow. _Good_.

"And watch you drool on your pillow?" James asked, bouncing onto Sirius' bed, careful not to land on his feet. "We've done enough of _that_." Sirius looked embarrassed, so James just carried on, "Gorgeous and enthralling as your slumbering expression is, it does get boring after a while."

"We'd much rather catch you awake."

"Yeah, Pads. You never make it past tea time anymore."

"Am I that predictable?"

"Like clockwork," Remus confirmed happily. "Which is good if you think about it--"

"We can schedule our detentions loads easier."

"Glad to accommodate you lot."

"You should be. It's not easy, getting everything done around your sleeping schedule."

"I'll bear that in mind."

"You better," James told him, turning around as his Mum came in, carrying a bathrobe and slippers. "Hi, Mum!"

"Hi honey," Betty said, looking happier than she had in days. "Hi, boys. Why don't you go wash up while I get him ready? We'll see you downstairs in a few minutes."

"Ready for what, Mrs. P?" Sirius wanted to know, even as his friends fairly leapt out without a word.

"It's a surprise; you'll see soon enough," she answered, helping him into fresh pyjamas and combing his hair.

It _was_ a surprise, no two ways about it: as they reached the dining room, Sirius' eyes widened, trying to take it all in: the place had been decorated just as he remembered from past holidays spent here; fairies were fluttering about a laden dinner table, next to a huge tree covered in glowing decorations. Everything smelled of…

"Happy Christmas!" reached his ears, courtesy of his brightly grinning friends, James' parents, and the Headmaster.

Still, confusion won out. Wasn't it…?

Ah, _hell_. Had he missed something again?

Sirius decided he'd ask. Just to make sure.

"Isn't it … _January_?" 

"Yep," James, ever aware of his immediate needs, confirmed before he got even more mixed up. "And it's our new tradition. Second Christmas, just to celebrate it together."

"Brilliant."

And it _was_. Sirius couldn't really remember having had this much fun in ages, and now his brain was actually working again, it agreed wholeheartedly.

They even opened presents and everything, which struck Sirius as a bit odd, as he didn't have anything to give… but Remus was showing off his watch, and Pete thanked him for his ring (in secret, of course), and the Potters hadn't opened theirs, so it wasn't too bad.

Best of all was, James _loved_ his.

"A _Quidditch pitch_?" he asked in disbelief, staring at the small figures of two teams zipping through the shoebox-sized field.

"So you can test your strategies before using us lowly players as guinea pigs, Mr. Team Captain, sir," Sirius answered from the sofa, where he was struggling to open his first present, which was from Mrs. P. He might walk around more or less okay, but his fingers lacked the most basic coordination, and his right hand was pretty much useless.

It was a sad day indeed, when he was defeated by coloured cellophane, but he wouldn't let anyone help him. Unwrapping, he claimed, was half the fun anyway, but he suspected he'd still be at it come nightfall.

Not that he had anything better to do.

Sirius looked up from his endeavours at James, who was getting the PISS over his present, which, he could now recall, had taken him almost a month to charm into being, from making it recognise and show small figures of the actual players in the teams, to making the figurines mimic their flying style and record their plays.

James was poking and prodding it with his wand, twiddling a dial to switch the teams he was looking at.

"Hey! There's pro teams in it too!"

"Yeah, I thought it would give it variety."

"It's _brilliant_ , mate."

And _that_ made Sirius' day.

In the end, after everyone had opened their myriad gifts and everyone was fairly drowning in wrapping paper, cellophane, and magical items whirring and buzzing and flying about, the Marauders reached the end of their tether and helped Sirius (who had long given up on even trying to open them), unpack his presents. Mrs. P had gotten him a thick fluffy blue sweater, which she helped him into at once; from Pete, he'd gotten homemade beef jerky, a box of chocolate frogs, and a bottle of Insulting Ink, which, well, turned whatever you wrote into insults and had them in stitches; from Remus, there was a copy of the Silmarillion and three enormous bars of Honeyduke's best, and from James he got a set of Cussing Chessmen, which marched up and down the Potters' living room, rudely challenging everyone they encountered to battle and trying to get into James' Quidditch pitch to attack the tiny flying players, who pelted them with the smallest Bludgers in creation.

However, the absolute highlight was James' Dad, who disappeared for a few moments and returned with an armful of broomsticks, leaving them all open-mouthed.

"I heard somewhere that you were in dire need of rides," he told the boys, much to their collective delight; he had taken James' advice to heart and procured him and Sirius Nimbus 1990s, and Remus and Peter inherited Coop's and James' Nimbus 1980s, which they were ecstatic over.

And of course, they just _had_ to try them out, which resulted in a fierce Quidditch match that Sirius watched only a part of; he dozed off in his chair, Betty's arm wrapped around him.

All in all, this day couldn't have been more different from what had become the norm; today, the dismal, the hurtful and the dire held no sway over Godric's Hall.

Today, it was Christmas in January.

They could always return to fretting later.

.

* * *

.

The waxing moon rose over Godric's Hollow, bathing the silent village in silver moonlight. It went unseen by the inhabitants of this nook of the world, because like anyone with sense, they were asleep.

Sirius had never so much as claimed to have an ounce of sense, though.

Most people he'd encountered throughout his short life could bear testament to that.

He had been exhausted — happily so — after the celebration, and damn, Peter _had_ been right. He hadn't made it awake past high tea.

He suspected his friends had left some point after that, having left a bunch of get well cards on his bedside table, and someone — here he suspected Remus — had nicked half a bar of chocolate from his pile of gifts. Sirius found that he didn't mind at all; the reminder of his friends' presence was heartwarming, and in the long hours of these winter nights, it was also sorely needed. It helped shake the dream and the depressing thoughts that inevitably followed.

The alarm clock in the room told him it was past midnight when he woke up from yet another nightmare, the acrid smell of fart up his nostrils.

And was it getting _stronger_? Try as he might, he honestly couldn't tell.

Still, once again, the dog in him wasn't allowing him to dismiss it.

Sirius made his unsteady way out of bed once again, taking care to be very quiet. He didn't want to disturb James' parents. Merlin knew they weren't the youngest, and they had already worked themselves ragged looking after his every need these past weeks.

This, he knew, wasn't as badly needed as before. They didn't seem to have caught on to that factoid, and Sirius decided that, since telling them hadn't worked, all he could do was demonstrate that he was, indeed, well enough to do some things on his own now.

He spent a while by the window, but just as the previous night, there was no movement outside. No tell-tale shimmering of the wards, not a hint of stirring anywhere near the alarm spells. And yet, the fart smell was _there_ , faint, tantalising… and freshly pungent at times. It came and went, he noticed. And during the day, it was wholly absent. He'd sniffed.

Being on high alert for something so vague and looking out at grounds and a village that weren't showing any change at all, wasn't the most entertaining of activities, however, and soon Sirius felt restless.

Going out was of course, out of the question, but maybe some reading material would do the trick? Mr. P had no shortage of books in his office, so Sirius decided he'd give that a shifty.

"Go to bed, lad," James' late grandfather Henry (and his uncle by some twist of fate) chided gently, and Sirius grinned. "In a bit, old H. I'm just getting a book."

"Try something from the third shelf," the portrait suggested, going back to snoozing right after. Sirius decided he just might.

And what do you know, _Elemental Magick of the Hebrides_ didn't sound half bad.

"Can't sleep?" Made him whip around with a start. It was Mr. P. His bathrobe was crooked, his silvery hair standing up on end.

"No, sir."

"Was it a bad dream again, lad?"

Sirius shrugged his shoulders.

"Yeah, at first. But… I don't know, I feel like something's going to happen, and then I can't go back to sleep again."

"Ah element spells," Coop said, coming closer and adjusting his glasses. "That'll do it for you," he said with a grin. "That book is a carnival of snoozes waiting to happen."

"Uncle Henry did recommend the third shelf."

"I'm not sure that my father knows what is in it at all." Coop looked into Sirius' eyes for a moment, losing his smile. "How are you holding up?"

"Better, Mr. P."

"Seriously?"

Sirius cracked a smile, "I always do things Siriusly."

"You know what I mean, son."

"I do," Sirius admitted, and did the old wizard know what he _did_ to him when he called him _that_? "And I do feel better. Sort of."

"You remember?"

"Everything, Mr. P. The good, the bad, the ugly." Sirius turned the book over in his hands. "I don't understand half of it. But I remember." He just wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse, at this point. He was leaning toward the second option.

"I can't understand it yet either, but don't forget we're here for you. _I_ am here for you." He wrapped Sirius in a hug, giving him a kiss on top of his head. "You won't be alone again to deal with any of it."

"Thank you, Mr. P."

"I think you'll also want to give these ones a gander," Coop added a moment later, ruffling Sirius' hair and extracting three books from the third shelf. "The _Duellist's Handbook_ is a little dated, but maybe old school style will suit you; we didn't have the… restraint back in the day that the Ministry insists on nowadays. And… These here are my Apparition notes, from when I learnt when I was young, but it hasn't changed at all since the turn of the century… and this here might aid you as well."

The last book was on — Sirius' eyebrows rose in appreciation — battle magic. He looked curiously at Mr. P.

"I fought against Grindelwald, you know," he said. "Both times. We used many of those spells in the Grindelwald War. I believe that sadly, you'll have a dire need of them, and soon."

Sirius couldn't find fault in that reasoning, even if the reminder did put him on edge again, and that feeling of dread he had woken with spiked.

"What's going to happen when I go back, Mr. P?" he asked.

Coop raised his bushy eyebrows, then shrugged his shoulders and led him to the squashy settees by the fire.

"They've charged you with murder, and although now the general public is increasingly convinced that you're dead, the charges will come up again the instant the Ministry learns you're alive. Albus has a plan for you to arrive at Hogwarts, obviously with our aid, when you are better. He will not allow the Ministry to arrest you, nor will we."

"My mother though," Sirius voiced his present worries. "She'll probably just pull me out of school when I get there. Never mind the Ministry, she'll give me right back to Voldemort."

"She cannot."

"What?"

"I was waiting for the right moment to tell you… Betty and I adopted you."

"Come again?" Sirius deadpanned.

"Well, I had a chat with your dear mother at the Ministry, back when you were still very ill. She was there to yell at the MLE, I suppose, or they'd asked her to testify or something, I didn't really ask. She, ah, disowned you… And, it was difficult, what with her shrieking and flailing about in a rage… but I did gather that she didn't really want anything to do with you."

Sirius snorted, "That's one thing we both agree on."

"Yes, I'm sure. So, I took my chance and filed for adoption. Posthumously, of course, so she signed off on it without a second thought, but it'll stick once you officially return to the world of the living. And therefore, your dear mother can go dance on a penny, but she can't do anything anymore. Betty and I have full custody until you come of age, so it's us the Ministry will have to come to." Coop looked at Sirius expectantly. For a few seconds, Sirius processed this information. It was as unexpected as it was heartening. And a little hard to believe, if he was honest with himself; it sounded… too good to be true.

"I don't have to change my name to Potter, do I?" he asked, making the old wizard laugh.

"Not unless you want to, son."

"I don't, really. They'll hate it more if I keep my old one."

"Oh, I'm _sure_ they will." They both laughed.

"Thank you, Mr. P. Really. I don't know how I can make it up to you, any of it."

"It's gladly done, Sirius. Honestly, if I'd known sooner…" he left the statement hanging for a moment, then asked, "Why did you allow me to go into your memories? You wouldn't let Albus, but…"

"Well, I trust _you_ , Mr. P." Sirius said, frowning. "And I guess… I guess you needed to know the whole truth as much as I did. Because…" Merlin, but this wasn't easy. Sirius swallowed dryly. "Because if there was anything to put any of you in danger… or if I messed up, or told… at least you'd know the truth, you could do something about it." Because that needed to come out, and even now that he remembered everything, Sirius still didn't have the words to explain any of it. He didn't think he ever would.

"You _didn't_ , Sirius," Mr. P assured him. "You're the bravest, most loyal chap I've ever known."

"I didn't feel brave," Sirius admitted, shaking his head. "Most of that time, I just wanted to wet myself." Or die, but he was forbidden from it now, wasn't he?

"And yet you didn't. That's courage, son."

"Godric's old hat said something like that too. I didn't get it then either."

"One day, you will. And it's us who are in your debt," Coop told him. "What you did to protect James … you saved his life, so many times. Ours as well."

"He'd have done the same for me. And… Really, Mr. P… I'd do it again."

Coop gave him a strange sort of look, which Sirius couldn't for the life of him understand. It was the same kind of look he sometimes gave James, whenever the latter wasn't looking, like he was close to tears, but also sort of… happy? It made no sense.

It also made Sirius deeply uncomfortable.

"So…" he said, just to put something out there, "I don't have to call you Dad, do I? Because that would just be plain _weird_."

.

* * *

.

"Don't forget, tomorrow right after classes you'll serve your detention," the Headmaster reminded the three Marauders upon arriving at Hogwarts. He looked around the Come-and-Go room appraisingly.

The place had suffered a great change since he had last been here, days earlier; there were some shelves along the far wall, with pranking items and fireworks neatly stacked; work tables laden with things he couldn't describe, but so tidy that he suspected someone with O.C.D. (Remus, most likely) had had a hand in organising everything. On the other wall, a large chalkboard had been charmed to show moving Quidditch plays, in James' scrawl.

The Headmaster nodded to himself; this place was as good as any for his energetic students to stay out of trouble in — even if it _was_ trouble what they were planning in here.

"Yes, sir." James beamed at him, as did his companions. Albus smiled.

"You won't be so enthusiastic when you see what's in store. My office needs a thorough scrubbing."

"No probs, professor," was the prompt reply. "It'll be sparkling."

"Shining."

"Polished so well you'll see your reflection on the wood."

"You'll even see who's in that grimy portrait by the window."

Shaking his head and chuckling, Albus took his leave from the boys, but James caught up with him in the corridor.

"Thanks, professor. For helping, and all _this_. Y'know. Honest. Thanks."

"No probs, Mr. Potter. Y'know. Honest." Albus smiled widely. "Don't forget; tomorrow after class. My office."

"Youbetcha."

.

* * *

.

James had a hard time not singing for joy. Everything seemed to be working out at _last_ , righting itself like no one's business.

Sirius was steadily getting better, for one, and at last there was a visible and undeniable change. The grey-eyed Marauder didn't forget them anymore; he could get out of bed for short periods; he didn't zonk out at random; and best of all, he didn't look broodish whenever James and his friends were around. Not for one second, and the three of them made a point of being available over James' Two-Way Mirror every spare moment, to make sure he didn't brood at all.

Sure, so he still looked like death rewarmed, and yeah, so he still couldn't walk without a limp, and James couldn't forget what was underneath the thick padding still covering his midriff, _and_ he woke up sometimes with horrid images in his head that had come from Sirius' nightmares — but he _was_ getting better, and that meant he'd come back to school soon, where James could make sure he got completely back to his old self.

It made pretending he was dead so difficult, that James dreaded being around others over dinner that night. Never mind his misgivings over Pete and Remus —which were _entirely_ unfounded, and he'd make a point not to forget that ever again — he didn't trust _himself_ not to mess anything up, because he was _sure_ that the sheer happiness he felt was written all over his face, in glowing ink and fat bold lettering.

The three Marauders took their usual places at the Gryffindor table, trying — and failing, James was sure — to look bummed out and depressed. None quite managed; instead they all put on their best poker faces and tried not to draw any attention to themselves.

James surveyed the students around them. The buzz of conversation had risen when they'd arrived — as had become customary — but he couldn't, for once, hear any accusing remarks about Sirius. He did, however, catch his name being spoken a few times.

"Gah, do we have to sit here?" Pete asked, eyes roving over the dishes along the table. "I'm so stuffed it's not even funny."

"It is a little funny, Pete," James retorted, serving himself some mashed potatoes and upending a bowl of gravy on top. Just to keep up the pretence.

"It's not, this looks like prison grub compared to…" Remus caught himself in time, making the other two boys bite back snickers. "other stuff," he finished lamely.

James glanced over to the staff table, and caught McGonagall's eye. She nodded at him with a small, knowing smile, and James nodded back. Next to her, Dumbledore, too, was regarding the food with something close to distaste.

"Finished your _detention_ , Potter?" made James focus on something — _someone_ — who was guaranteed to wipe his good mood away. From this close, he even did away with any pretence James could have had of eating.

"Sod off, Snivellus," James snarled. Under the table, his wand was already aiming at the greasy Slytherin. "If you know what's good for you."

"Don't tell me, are you still missing your _girlfriend_?" Yellow teeth flashed at him as Snape's mouth curled into a sneer. "I hear he was blasted and splattered all over your village, is that true?"

James' teeth were gnashed together. He was itching to have a go at Snape, but Dumbledore's warnings and his Mum's words stopped him. Not in the Great Hall. Not in front of all these people.

"Serves that bloody traitorous murderer _right_. I don't think anyone would've want _him_ to be buried in their graveyard, not even your pitiful Mudblood-loving village."

"That'll be twenty points from Slytherin," Remus' voice held a warning that few had ever dared to ignore, and it succeeded in making James bite his own tongue. "Don't make it more."

Not in front of everyone, Dumbledore had said.

"What, you're taking points for… what? Having an _opinion_?" Snape snarled. "Do you even know who I _am_ , you filthy Mudblood halfbreed?"

"Stop it right now!" Evans had risen from her seat a little ways away, and was soon striding towards Snape, who instinctively took one step back. She was _furious_.

James thought she looked like a goddess, all flaming hair and flashing eyes. He could appreciate it fully now, when for once her anger wasn't directed at him.

"Go back to your table and keep _your_ filthy mouth shut. That'll be another thirty points and detention with Filch, _Snape_ ," she spat. "For unwarranted insults to a Prefect, spreading lies about the deceased, _and_ provocation. Now run along."

Snape did, his expression like curdled milk. James raised his eyebrows, earnestly astonished. He'd _never_ have expected this turn of events. Then again, he'd never before just sat there and done nothing; it wasn't a good feeling. But Evans standing up for him… for _all_ of them, even Sirius…

That felt _good_.

"Wow. Thanks, Evans." James said.

"No problem, Potter," she told him, and smiled a little, reaching across the table…

And taking his mash.

Well. If she wanted his food, she could have it.

She could have _him_ as well, if she felt peckish; hadn't Sirius called him a roast rump waiting to happen for years now? James was sure he was tasty enough for her delicate palate…

"You _won't_ be eating this," she informed him.

Gods, but she was mesmerising.

"I won't," he assured her.

"Because that git poured a potion in it."

"He poured a potion, yeah." James smiled, but then her words registered. "Wait. _What_?"

"Not sure what it does, but I'm sure it's nothing nice." And she _winked_ at him, before she went to the head table to report Snivellus.

James was in _love_.

 _Everything_.

Sorting itself out.

Just like _that_.

James felt the change in the air.

.

* * *

.

"Knight to H-3," Remus said before lunch on Monday, while Peter was in Muggle Studies and James was hurrying to finish an essay for Herbology.

"You're not worthy of our time, you wankerrr!" came from the Mirror in the corner of the room, and they all snickered. Those Cussing Chessmen were fab, and had them all in stitches half the time. James was sure he'd even learnt some new insults.

"I think he's talking to you, Prongs," Remus chortled.

"Shurrup, Moony, there's a lad. What's the name of the plant thing that bit you on the chin last week?"

"You said to _shurrup_."

"I hate you, you know?"

"No, you really don't."

"You there," Sirius' voice came from the Mirror, "go over there and squash his bishop flat."

"Where's 'over there', Pads?" Remus asked over the highly insulting cursing and threats Sirius' chessmen were launching against the bishop, "and which bishop of mine is getting squashed?"

"Uh, hang on… the one that's in uh… E-6, no, F-4."

"You're worse at this than James."

"Well, it's hard to remember all the little letters and all," Sirius argued. "It's easier face to face. Besides, we usually just go full-out berserker when _we_ play, none of that H-3, G-7 nonsense. _And_ your bishop… he's running around all over the place, the—"

"Yellow bastard!" the chessman yelled.

"I was going for coward, but that works too," Sirius chuckled.

That was yet another improvement, James noted happily. Sirius, just like Remus and Peter last week, was starting to remember how to hold a conversation and laugh again.

* * *

 

On their way to Herbology a while later, James stumbled over someone's outstretched foot in one of the hallways.

"Oh, I'm _sorry_ ," Snape snapped. James hadn't even seen him that time. "Did my foot get in the way of your waddling?"

"Stuff it, Snivellus. I'm not in the mood."

" _You_ stuff it, Potter!" Snape shouted, making several students stop to stare. He glanced at something over James' shoulder next, getting to his feet and raising his fists in a parody of how Muggles looked when duelling with their fists, sticking his butt out and curling his upper lip, like the hobo version of that fighting Irish cartoon.

James blinked.

"You're getting weirder by the hour," he told Snape, who responded by uttering some sort of rage yell and aiming a rather overenthusiastic blow at his face. James sidestepped him, and the next instant, he heard an incantation; having sharp ears certainly helped. He twisted around, giving Snape a berth… and watched him stagger right into the spell.

"Ow!" Snape yelped out, getting propelled against the wall with a _smack_.

"Sorry!" Sirius' cousin Narcissa poked her head out of a classroom, looking quite like she'd misfired a spell on accident. "I totally missed my mark—" she cut herself off as she saw Snape sliding to the floor.

"I think you were right on target," James corrected, grinning obnoxiously at her. "Cheers."

"What was that all about?" Peter asked him. James shrugged dismissively.

"Apparently, the Slyths have sanity issues." And apparently, he could get away with loads more by not doing a _thing_ than by snapping at every piece of bait thrown his way.

Who'd have _thunk_ it?

.

* * *

.

There were other changes in the works, too: James had stopped hexing people left and right since he'd promised his Mum to put things right in school, and by the time the weekend rolled by, everyone had noticed _that_.

To be honest, it was hard not to: James had stopped punching the Slytherins whenever he heard anything he didn't like; instead of joining in the many scuffles that broke out — regularly now — between what Remus had called Team Sirius and Team Muncher, James had started breaking them up; rather than spurring the inter-House rivalry on, which had reached unheard-of levels over the past month, now he spoke; about things like unity, and loyalty, and trust, things that had been missing from the school for too long.

He helped others now, rather than prank them, but he was _fierce_ against blood-status discrimination and bullying. Those who did anything to any student (no matter their House), could expect to receive every ounce of ridicule that only a Potter could pour on them, as publicly as only he could make it. Shame was his new weapon of choice, and it was _very_ effective.

As early as Tuesday, Remus claimed that James was single-handedly erasing the Houses, and that he was leaving students only with the choice of siding with the Light or the Dark.

And those who clustered around the Light, wasted no time following his example.

James had even gone to sit with Barnaby and Belinda Trent, who were both Hufflepuff First Years whose parents and older brother had been murdered on Saturday. Nobody knew what he told them (and he wouldn't say anything), but they seemed to hero-worship him afterwards. James, who wouldn't even have known or bothered to learn their names any other time, seemed to have taken them under his wing rather than mocking them.

Most noticeably, the murmurs about Sirius going Dark soon became a thing of the past.

James himself found that it had been easier than he thought.

"It's like Dumbledore said," he told Remus and Peter, who weren't only the first to be introduced to the new and improved James Potter, but also his most motivated helpers, "The War is out there, but we can't keep claiming that Hogwarts will be safe if we're fighting each other in here. And really, blood-status is the _stupidest_ reason I've ever heard for people to kill each other. I mean, look at what people did to Sirius, in a blinking. Just because his last name's Black, everyone was willing to forget what he's — _was_ — really like. I reckon it's time to stop that crap. We're all witches and wizards, that's the only thing that should matter. That and, Hogwarts is all our home, right, so we can't be destroying it from the inside."

Remus and Peter didn't seem to see fault in any of it… nor did the hundred or so students who had listened in and spread the news like wildfire.

 _Everything_.

Getting better.

It was a _snap_.

.

* * *

.

"They let you out from the Hospital Wing at last, then." Narcissa raised a slender eyebrow, giving Severus a very dirty look. "There I was thinking, I'd have to send you to him, rather than Potter."

"Just now," Severus muttered, but his eyesight seemed a little unfocused still. "Did you get him?"

Narcissa snorted derisively.

"I don't even know where he went," she said. "And _he_ wants _him_ tonight. No more excuses. No stupid mistakes. He wants _results_."

"Well, he's been doing a lot of detentions with Dumbledore, maybe we can cut him off on his way back to —"

" _We_?" Narcissa asked sarcastically. "There's no _we_ here, Snape. You do it, I am fed up."

"What, _alone_?"

" _You_ delayed us with your idiotic brewing," she shot back, poking him in the chest. " _You_ screwed up the poison you blathered on about for days. _You_ intercepted my hurling hex yesterday. So. Yes, _you_. _Alone_."

"But _how_ —"

"Come here. There's a spell I learnt over the holidays, it's called the Slashing Curse…"

.

* * *

.

"You're _so_ lying."

"I'm not, Padfoot, honest!"

Sirius' eyes, no longer dulled with pain, were shining with mirth.

"And you're such a bloody lousy liar too."

"I solemnly _swear_!"

It was just the two of them today, and they were sitting in the conservatory because James' Mum was adamant against allowing Sirius out of the house; well, _James_ was sitting, Sirius was wrapped up under layers and layers of fabric and blankets like a human lasagna spread out on an enlarged recliner. So he wouldn't catch cold or something. Funny thing was, he didn't seem to mind. Like, at _all_.

Anyway, since Remus had had to do rounds, and Pete was brewing more painkillers for Sirius, and Slughorn had promised to help him with a tricky potion, which would help fix his bum leg, hopefully soon... James had come alone, and he was having the time of his life.

"I'll believe it when I see it," Sirius said sceptically.

"He was standing — like this, yeah? — and getting ready for _the fisticuffs_." James did a passable imitation of Snape, which had them both in stitches again. "And then I heard this spell, right— not sure what it was, but I just stepped to the side, yeah? Snivellus was so _into_ it, man. He totally stumbled straight _into_ the spell's path. He got slammed into a wall, and then Narcissa appeared all 'sorry, I can't aim to save my life!'" James simpered. "You should have _seen_ her expression when she realised it wasn't me she'd hit. Honest, it was like someone had _just_ farted in her face."

Sirius was, for the first time in ages, roaring with laughter. He was laughing so hard it looked like he'd pop something.

James thought that it was about time, watching him with satisfaction.

 _Everything_. Righting itself just _so_.

_Like no one's business._

A few moments later, when Sirius had been reduced to helpless sniggers, James decided to take it up yet another notch.

"Sooo," he said, "what's the story with Nina McAlpin?"

Sirius stopped laughing so abruptly, that for a moment James feared he _had_ popped something.

"What story? There's no _story_."

"Who's the bloody lousy liar _now_?" He shouldn't be enjoying it as much as he shamelessly _was_ , but Sirius' nonplussed expression was priceless.

"There's _no story_!"

"You're _so_ lying."

"I'm _not_ , Prongs! Honest!"

"Totally."

"I solemnly _swear_!"

_Like no one's bloody business!_

.

* * *

.

Upon arriving at the Come-and-Go room, James bade the Headmaster good night, but decided to stay a while longer. He was behind on planning his plays against Ravenclaw, and if Sirius wasn't well enough to play by the end of next month, which was entirely possible, he needed a backup strategy.

James had snuck Sirius out to do a few laps on his new broomstick earlier, and while _that_ had gone better than he'd expected, once Sirius was back on the ground he'd been so unsteady on his feet that he'd had to levitate him to his room, where he promptly passed out. And since James was bursting with energy still, he decided to take full advantage of it.

By the time he'd figured out what to do for the next few Quidditch practices, it was almost eleven at night.

Not that James minded, even without his cloak — which was being kept at home, to hide Sirius in case the Ministry popped by — he doubted he'd get caught. And even if he was, that was yet another easy detention, assuring he'd see Sirius again tomorrow. Win-win.

He left the Come-and-Go room, hands in his pockets and revelling in the sharp turn for the better that everything had taken. This time last week he'd been close to becoming a wreck, and things had been so worrisome that he'd lost hope of them ever getting better once or twice… But somehow, _incredibly_ , now they were getting better by the _minute_. It was like the fates had not only taken pity on them— it was as though they'd given them all a charmed life all of a sudden.

He wasn't sure what was more amazing; Sirius' suddenly fast recovery, or how Evans seemed to finally manage to speak to him without looking like she'd throw up; or how people suddenly seemed to accept that Sirius was being framed. Or how he'd managed to keep his promise to his Mum and help people stop fighting amongst each other…

 _The new game plan_ , he decided. The failsafe, fool-proof way to win against Ravenclaw even _with_ Clearwater in the mix. _That_ had to be the most amazing, impossible thing that had happened so far.

"Oi, Potter!"

James whipped around towards the voice, the back of his neck prickling uncomfortably in warning—

" _SECTUMSEMPRA_!"

James staggered backwards as the spell hit him in the chest, his hands flying to his midriff, which was suddenly spurting blood.

There was a second flash of light — and James crumpled, ringing for breath. He didn't have enough wind in him to cry out, and soon it hurt too much to even try.

* * *

Eight hundred miles away, Sirius woke up with a start, the scream James had been struggling to get out issuing out of his throat instead.

_._

* * *

TBC. _  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Up: Voldemort's various plans fall into place. James is badly off, Remus is hysterical only not, Sirius loses something he had, but he'll find it again so it's all good, and Snape starts butting in loads more than previously planned.   
> It's sad that this site does not have like/dislike buttons like that v log one, because they'd be super helpful. However! I really would appreciate knowing at least that much, because even if I love this story, maybe you didn't, and knowing that alone means tons to me. So... Thanks for reading, and plz write one word to let me know.


	13. Doppelschlag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Sirius is resourceful in an emergency, but has lost something. Snape is stealthy, Remus has hairless problems, and Voldemort's plan falls into place quite seamlessly, and he sounds a lot like Mr. Burns, even though this isn't a crossover... annnnd now you'll have Burnsdemort stuck in your head. Coop ruminates about things. And things get bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All I got, is a red guitar, three chords, and the truth. All I got is a red guitar, the rest is up to you. Nope, that's not mine either, but if I'm already listing the things I don't own, might as well add this one.
> 
> Dedication: Thanks for the amazing reviews. theFearTakesHold, this chapter's totally yours.

* * *

**Part Thirteen: Doppelschlag (Double Whammy)**

**Or, to quote Da Man,**

**Out of the Frying Pan…**

* * *

.

Coop and Betty started awake, the howl of pain that tore through the silence and woke them ringing in their ears as they sat up, instantly alarmed.

" _JAMES! NO_!"

The shout, which reverberated throughout the manor an instant later, had Coop and Betty racing to the boys' room.

Sirius was stumbling out of bed by the time they arrived, knocking things over in a desperate search for something. He was holding his midriff, panicked and gasping for air.

"Sirius, what's the matter?" Betty asked in alarm.

"It's James! He's hurt— he's _so hurt_ , it's— it's _bad_." He was stammering, so distressed and desperate, it made Coop's already considerable worry spike.

"Are you _sure_?" Betty asked.

"Couldn't it have been a night—" Coop started, but he was interrupted.

"It _wasn't_ a dream," Sirius snapped. "I was awake, I—" Sirius shook his head, resumed his search, and found his wand. "I saw as… _Someone_ attacked him, in this corridor… in the seventh floor I think— gah _bollocks_! Where is the damned _thing_?" he exclaimed in frustration, but decided to put his wand to use immediately after. " _Accio_ Mirror!"

The Two-Way Mirror flew out from under a stack of books, knocking candy and get-well cards and the Cussing Chessmen every which way, which broke out in a torrent of expletives and only added to the chaos.

Betty and Coop stared at their surrogate kid in shock. The next moment, their eyes found each other. They were both clearly thinking the same thing: he'd had a nightmare and he believed it was real. Poppy had told them it could, and probably would, happen. They'd also seen it before, those first few days, over and over again— he'd believed that he needed to run from the Death Eaters every single time he woke up for _weeks_ ; and with his memory so recently restored, Coop was sure that his mind was playing tricks on him again. Neither he nor Betty knew just how to get _him_ to see it, though.

James was usually the one who grounded him, convinced him of what was what, easily and without even batting a lid. But James wasn't here, Sirius was going spare, and the Potters had no idea how to handle it.

" _Sirius_ , honey…" Betty started gently, but he raised a hand to interrupt, hands shaking as he struggled to keep the Mirror from falling as he caught it. There was no tremor to his voice when he opened his mouth, however.

"REMUS! PETE! _WAKE UP_!" Sirius shouted into the mirror, then turned to the alarmed Potters.

" _Call for help_!" He stared at them in disbelief. "He's _really_ bad off! _Go_! And _shut up_ , you lot!" That last was furiously directed at the chessmen, who quieted at once. Sirius, on the other hand, only got louder. He seemed to decide that the Potters would not help, so he turned to the Mirror again.

"REMUS! PETER! COME _ON_ , DAMN YOU!"

"Wha?" Remus sounded half asleep. Behind him, Peter was groggily sitting up in bed. "Padf— what's the matter?"

" _Finally_!" Sirius snapped. "Remus, James is _hurt_. Seventh floor, in some corridor, near the painting of that crazy knight, what's his name—" he snapped his fingers in the air, "Sir Cadogan! He's bleeding like mad. _RUN_!"

Betty suddenly rushed to the office, as though Sirius had been yelling at _her_. Coop could hear her moments later, shouting for Albus on the fireplace.

He was sure it had been just one of Sirius' bad dreams, and bad as those were, it wasn't, couldn't be, anything else. But now the chaos was growing exponentially… and he still didn't know how to calm the boy down. Sirius looked frantic, talking into the Mirror — in a thankfully much quieter, almost feverish voice — while poor Remus was half asleep, stumbling over his feet while being directed out of Gryffindor Tower and towards a spot where he'd surely find _nothing_.

But what if… _what if it_ _wasn't nothing_?

Once the thought surfaced, Coop's heart started hammering in earnest. James had had similar reactions before, especially during those terrible days when Sirius was lost. He'd been frantic then too, at times, just like this. Coop had borne witness to what Sirius had been going through then, when he saw those memories. It _hadn't_ been his son's imagination running wild and giving his fears an outlet then, so... could it be...?

_Could it be…?_

He was rooted to the spot, staring at the Two-Way Mirror over Sirius' shoulder, at a very jolty image of Remus running through passages and hallways.

"Faster, Remus!" Sirius urged. "He doesn't have much time - turn left, _there_!"

And there, as Remus turned a corner, just like Sirius had said, was…

"Oh dear Lord. _James_." Coop's voice was hardly a whisper. It _hadn't_ been just one of Sirius' bad dreams.

This was real.

His knees felt weak, and gave way the next moment.

"Mr. P! _Gaaaah_. Hold on—" Sirius packed him by one arm, redirecting him to sit on the bed before he could fall, toppling to the floor himself.

"I found him, Pads—" Remus sounded frantic with fear, as he levitated the mirror to get his hands free. The pool of blood around James' fallen from was growing entirely too fast. " _Gods_ , oh _Merlin_ , what—"

"Remus, _focus_!" Sirius snapped, sitting on the floor and gripping the mirror so hard, Coop feared he'd shatter it. But it didn't break, and somehow, Sirius' voice was steady enough to command attention, even though he looked as frantic as Remus.

"You've _got_ to get him to the Hospital Wing. _Whoa_ , that's a lot of blood— Bandages first, _come on, hurry up_!"

"I _can't_ —" Remus was panicking in earnest, and not without reason: James was lying in a pool of blood which was being fed from several cuts, and Coop could see one gash across James' chest, out of which blood was spurting out, in time with his heartbeat— whoever had done this, had tried to kill him. And it looked like they could as yet succeed.

"I _can't remember the_ _spell_!" Remus yelled, hysterical.

"It's, uh… it's—" Sirius screwed his eyes shut, giving his head a good smack, as though he could somehow dislodge the information. It seemed to work, which was good, because Coop was gripped with such terror, he couldn't even _think_. His already exhausted mind was stunned stupid with the shock of what he was seeing.

There was James, his baby boy… bleeding to death before his eyes, and there was _nothing_ he could do to help.

"It's _ligo fasciae fomentum!_ " Sirius yelled not a second later. "You do _one_ clockwise motion and _then_ tap wherever it's bleeding. Remus, did you hear me?" Coop would be surprised if they hadn't heard him in the town square. " _REMUS_!" Remus gave a shaky nod, but then shook his head. The boy was frozen in his fright.

Sirius wasn't having it, however.

"Take a deep breath, yeah?" he snapped, making Remus flinch.

Coop gave a start as well; he'd heard that tone before, from _Orion_. The one that made you wish he was shouting. It was implacable, unyielding, and left no space for refusal. He couldn't believe he was hearing it issuing from _Sirius_ ' mouth.

"You _can_ do this, Moony, I'll help you, and you _will_ do this. _Now_. Raise. Your. Wand." Sirius' words were encouraging, but they were delivered in that unforgiving voice and instantly transmuted into an imperious order. " _Ligo fasciae fomentum_ , go _**on**_."

Remus did the only thing he could: he did as he was told.

" _Ligo fasciae fomentum_ ," he chorused with Sirius, then Sirius added, "clockwise move— good. Tap that, over the artery, where it's spurting. Now cast again— good man. Tap his leg, that's bleeding just as bad. Again…yeah, you're doing great, Moony, tap that other big one. _Again_. Good. That's the last on the front, Moony. Check his back."

There was a tremulous silence for a moment.

"He's not…" Remus swallowed. "He's not bleeding from his back." He was cradling James, trying to adjust him in his arms. James was very pale, shaking from head to toe, and he hadn't woken up.

"Remus… _please."_ Sirius' voice had lost its overbearing edge. It was small all of a sudden. Terrified. "Please. Tell me he's _breathing_."

"Yeah… yeah, he's breathing." Coop let out a breath of his own. His ears were ringing.

"The, er… the spell for the stretcher is… uh." Sirius' energy seemed to have drained from him. He closed his eyes. " _Evoco volans in lectulo_. I think. Hurry, yeah?" As Remus floated James on the stretcher, Sirius let out a shaky breath. Then he dropped the mirror, letting it slip from suddenly limp fingers. Coop caught it before it shattered on the floor, suddenly on his feet. It was as though their roles had been reversed. Sirius was shivering, slipping into the same sort of daze Coop had just managed to shake, now there was nothing more he could do.

Remus was already running down the hallways. He made his mirror trail behind him like a kite as he hurried to get James to the nurse, and Coop was treated to an aerial view of his son.

"We've got to go to Hogwarts." Coop's voice was tight with worry. Sirius nodded, looking almost ready to keel over himself.

"I'm … gonnabesick," he replied thickly.

.

* * *

.

Severus raced to his Common Room, but his race, unlike the frantic one going on seven floors up, was _ecstatic_.

He felt like whooping out loud, and he _would've_ , if Slytherins did whoop. But Slytherins didn't whoop, so he just sort of did a small victory gig instead. He had finally, _finally_ , gotten one up on Potter!

How _groovy_ was _that_?

He had waited for _hours_ , stalking the seventh floor, knowing that this was his last chance to meet Narcissa's deadline— and he'd _done_ it.

He hadn't been _seen_ , he hadn't been _heard_ , and… That spell Narcissa had given him was so… so bloody _awesome_! He'd make a point of using it, often.

" _There_ you are," welcomed him as he all but hopped into the Slytherin dungeon, sparing him from having to look for Narcissa at all.

"Here I am," Severus said with a grin in response to her look of distaste. "It's done." He watched it morph into one of disbelief.

" _Done_ , done?"

"Absolutely. He's out of it, over in the seventh floor. I'm sure he'll be taken to the Hospital Wing shortly, the filthy Squib will find him at any moment."

"I'll write my sister."

There was no, 'well done, Severus!', not even an approving smile — but Severus was too happy to let such trifles ruin his mood. It had felt so _good_ to slice Potter to ribbons, and so maybe he'd gotten all excited and had overdone it a bit, but _hey_!

It was something he'd relish _forever_.

Severus felt powerful, invincible even.

And the Dark Lord would know it was _him_ who finally delivered Potter. He would surely see what others could not, he would appreciate Severus for what he was — a kindred soul. And he would _reward_ him, raise him to the ranks of the legendary Inner Circle. He had just proven himself to the Dark Lord!

Still reeling with the sheer joy of revenge and a job well done, Severus Snape made his way to his bed.

.

* * *

.

Somehow, Mr. P had gotten him to the loo, where he'd spent a few moments spewing out his dinner, and while his stomach was bravely trying to turn itself inside out, his head decided it was high time it started pounding, as did the rest of him.

Sirius didn't feel any better afterwards, but at least he wasn't at risk of vomiting again; if he did, in the Floo… it would be _messy_. He suspected that this sick feeling wouldn't really leave him until he could see with his own eyes that James was… not okay, not by a long shot, but he'd settle for _alive_.

"How did you know?" Mr. P asked him, making short work of stuffing him into his bathrobe — one of James', like everything else he wore — while Sirius just stood there, trying not to topple over. "How did you know what happened?" This was one explanation that could take ages to tell, and Sirius didn't have the words or the mind to answer.

He settled for, "I always know."

He just didn't always know what to _do_ , and he'd never been so far away before. Right now, however, there wasn't anything he _could_ do, except follow whatever Mr. P instructed him to, which was, basically, walking. The mirror, which Mr. P still held in his hand, showed that Remus had reached the Hospital Wing, and James' Mum was already there. Urgent voices issued from it, as the nurse began treating his wounds.

It was to Sirius as though the world was shutting down, or maybe it was just him. Inside, he was still frantic, desperately trying to connect to James, trying not to lose his focus. But outwardly he felt as though he were moving through jell-o. Or was made of it, he didn't know. Everything else had lost importance; he didn't even notice that the smell of farts in the house was much stronger now. Although the dog in him did yap out a warning, the human mind had taken over and wasn't relinquishing its panicked grip, and his head was pounding fit to burst, leaving the dog out of the equation for the moment.

Sirius was led to Mr. P's office, then all but shoved into the Floo, then held still through the dizzying trip to Hogwarts, and toppled out of the Headmaster's grate a few moments later, where Dumbledore was waiting, looking ashen-faced.

Sirius looked at a nearby clock, as Dumbledore helped him stand. It read 11:11. Only a handful of _minutes_ had passed since he'd woken up. It had felt so much longer than that.

"Get under the cloak, Sirius," Mr. P. said gently, holding it out for him. "Can you make it to the Hospital Wing? Nobody's supposed to see you."

"I'll manage. I'll see you there," Sirius heard himself say. He left the wizards to hurry down the hallways of the castle on his own the next moment, well aware that he _wouldn't_ manage if he went the long way around with them.

So he took a few shortcuts, through familiar passages and fake walls, and opened the door to the Hospital Wing way ahead of the Headmaster and James' Dad, and long before his brain decided to shut off the world.

Inside, he could smell James' blood. The entire wing reeked of it.

He could see it too, congealing red spatters that formed a trail on the floor, ending outside one of the private rooms at the far end, on Remus himself. Remus was doused in the stuff, sitting bonelessly on a guest chair, apparently trying to stare a hole into his trembling, still dripping hands. He stank so bad, that Sirius was glad his stomach was empty. It was threatening to make him sick all over again.

Sirius found himself suddenly standing in front of him, but didn't stop, entering the room instead. He needed to see James first. Remus would take longer to sort out, and he needed to _know_.

Inside the brightly-lit room, the nurse was busy stopping the blood from James' wounds, aided by James' Mum herself. Sirius could almost chorus the spells with them; they were the same sort he'd been on the receiving end of for weeks.

"I'll get him some Blood-Replenishing potion," the nurse said, wiping her bloody hands on a towel. "He'll be fine, Betty. It's incredible, but he'll be all right. Remus found him just in time."

"Thank you, Poppy," Mrs. P said, smiling through her tears. It was heartbreaking to look at. Pomfrey gave her a small smile, then bustled out even as Sirius approached the foot of the bed, getting a good look in on his best friend at last. James was paler than parchment, and the thick padding on his midriff already showed some tell-tale red spots here and there. But he wasn't trembling, he wasn't struggling to get a breath in anymore, and thankfully, he wasn't soaked in blood either.

Sirius reached out and gave James' foot a small squeeze. He could only sense that he was completely out of it.

James let out a shuddering sigh.

"Will he really be all right?" Sirius asked quietly. He didn't expect Mrs. P to give a jump and a small, startled cry. "Sorry, Mrs. P," he added hastily, and pulled the hood of the cloak off his face. "I forgot about this thing. I didn't mean to give you a fright."

He didn't expect her to jump up and pull him into a fierce hug, either. He rubbed her back a little, feeling rather awkward.

"Thanks to you, he will be."

"I didn't do anything," he answered honestly. He'd been too far away.

" _Really_." She pulled away and gave him a look, of a kind that he couldn't really understand. It made him feel rather embarrassed.

"Really," Sirius confirmed, turning back to look at James. "Is he…?"

"He's just asleep, honey." Mrs. P wiped the tears from her eyes, then looked down at him. "Where's Coop?"

"Took the long way over. Big castle, y'know."

"I'll send him a Patronus. Don't let anyone see you, sweetie."

"I won't." Sirius nodded his head — the only visible part of him — towards the door. "I'll see to Remus, he's all out of sorts." He stepped out of the room, just as a large silvery hare shot out of it, but not even the huge glowing rabbit - _Thumper_ , Sirius' mind provided at once - dashing out in front of him had drawn Remus' attention.

Sirius regarded his werewolf friend for a moment, wishing he could help him and return the service he had just done for them.

And no, it hadn't _just_ been saving James' life.

He knew full well what the sight and smell of blood did to Remus, how hard it had been for him to do what he just did. Yes, Remus _had_ been scared — how could he not — but he was the most level-headed kid Sirius had ever known.

Sirius knew that Remus hadn't panicked.

Because Remus Lupin didn't _do_ panic.

Being a large dog, and given his penchant for running around the Forbidden Forest with a werewolf every month, Sirius had himself experienced blood frenzy before. For him, it had been a temporary phase, born out of circumstance, and it was gone from his system a few moments after that memorable fight against the jarvey was ended and he'd exhausted himself chasing James through the woods. Ever since, Sirius _could_ , with some effort, turn it _on_ and, most importantly, turn it _off_.

For Remus, it was a constant.

Blood frenzy, in his case, was not a passing thing. If he got angry enough, or frightened enough… let's just say Remus didn't _have_ fight or flight built into his system. He had fight and _kill_. He wasn't a mild-mannered snooze without a bloody good reason.

Deep down, Sirius knew, he was neither mild-mannered nor a snooze. Deep down, Remus was a bloodthirsty, remorseless killing machine, and he fought for his humanity every second he was awake.

He was doing it _now_.

Seeing James in a pool of blood like that, Sirius knew, _hadn't_ translated into fear for his friend. Not at first. It had translated into 'easy midnight snack', and Remus had just fought — and _won_ , let's not forget that — a major battle. And he was presently in a very bad place. He hadn't acknowledged Sirius at all, he hadn't even moved or blinked.

"Moony?" Sirius whispered.

That did the trick.

Remus' head snapped up, his usually warm brown eyes bloodshot, his expression completely tense; he was ready to bite Sirius' — or anyone's — face off, and was that a _snarl_?

Sirius lowered himself to a crouch beside his friend, never losing eye contact. The snarl became a low, warning growl. Sirius ignored it.

He snapped his fingers in front of Remus' nose.

Remus blinked, startled.

Yes, blood frenzy _was_ a terrible thing… But wolves and dogs shared loads more than you'd think, and as long as he wasn't too far gone, Remus could be snapped out of his one-track mind equally easily as Padfoot when he was stuck staring at a squirrel up a tree. The only difference was that, when _Remus_ got stuck like this, nobody ever felt like mocking _him_. Except for Sirius himself, but we've established already he had no sense for his own safety.

The brown eyes giving him a startled look weren't bloodshot anymore; they were kind and warm again, and suddenly apprehensive.

"C'mon, Moony," Sirius said gently, getting to his feet with a groan and offering him a hand up. "Let's get you to the showers. Scrub all that stuff off you."

"James…"

"He'll be fine," Sirius assured him. "And that's all thanks to _you_ , Moony. You saved his life."

"But… but you—"

"All I did was yell." Sirius shook his head and led him to the bathroom, extending his hand towards the nurse's office as he pushed Moony inside. " _Accio_ Moony's jimjams. Come on, Remus. Get in there and wash that off," he said, in the same soft tone he'd used countless times to calm the werewolf during a full moon. "I'll wait out here for you, okay?"

He leaned against the wall once the door closed, sliding down it and slapping the hood of the cloak over his throbbing head. A few minutes later, the doors to the wing opened.

In marched James' Dad, and Dumbledore, and _Pete_ , who was running ahead of them both, looking as frantic as Sirius himself had felt.

Sirius listened to the voices, thick with worry and morphing into something akin to relief a few moments later (he'll be okay, it was a close call but he'll be fine, he's only asleep — but he'll really wake up, right Mrs. Potter?), heard the heaving coming from the bathroom as Remus, too, chucked up his dinner, heard the shower going in the background…

Moments later, the world did a 180 and went black.

* * *

It wasn't until a very pink, still steaming Remus tripped over his outstretched leg that Sirius woke up with a yelp.

"What the—" Remus muttered, picking himself up off the floor. Sirius groggily lost the hood of the cloak again. " _Padfoot_?"

He rubbed his eyes, nodding. His head was throbbing hotly, and he suspected it was voicing what the rest of him was insisting on protesting; all the moving about and yelling and stressing and all were so _not_ things his system had been prepared for.

"I missed something," Sirius mumbled.

"You were there for the highlights," Remus answered, hauling him up. "Alright?" he asked.

"Yeah, just… gah, dunno. Dizzy." Sirius looked appraisingly at his friend, who came in and out of focus. "Yourself?"

"Yeah. Loads. C'mon, let's see if Prongs woke up."

.

* * *

.

James didn't wake up.

James' Mum would stay the night, but he and Mr. P had been _sent home_.

Sirius didn't want to leave, but he had been overruled by all the adults. He wasn't well enough to stay; he'd be seen and carted off to prison; he needed his rest as much as James; these reasons and more had been given, and mulishly refused, until a flat-out "No" was issued.

By James' own _Dad_.

Sirius found it unfair. He couldn't fight _him_.

He'd be allowed a short visit the next day, in the morning, and, so he was told in no uncertain terms, he could count himself lucky they'd let him come back at all. _If_ he was better. Sirius had snapped his mouth shut then, but he couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom. The dog in him was enraged at being ignored, and he wholly agreed with his canine self.

It felt so _wrong_ to leave.

"Do you know who did it?" Sirius asked Remus as they were making their slow way to the seventh floor. Behind them and Peter, James' Dad and the Headmaster were also speaking in grave, low voices.

Remus shook his head, but it held a measure of hesitation.

"No. I mean, he was alone when I got there, as you saw."

"What does your nose say, then?" Sirius asked impatiently. He had led them to Sir Cadogan's corridor, where the knight, now wide awake, was peering left and right warily. Someone — Filch, probably — had mopped up the blood. Which was good, he didn't have the energy to expend on stopping Moony from going all feral, just as he was sure Moony didn't have the energy to fight it again.

"There's a lot of people who use this corridor every day, Padfoot," Remus said fairly.

"I can _smell him_ ; can't you?" Sirius hadn't come here to speculate. He'd come here for confirmation. "I _saw_ him. It was just an instant, when I woke up, but. I'm bloody sure it was him. So did James, and _he'll_ confirm it when he wakes up, so don't waste your breath."

Even Pete's nose was twitching, and Sirius knew there was recognition in his friend's eyes.

" _Snivellus_." The three Marauders said it as one.

"Don't leave his side, not for a second," Sirius instructed his friends, even as the Headmaster and Mr. P passed them on the way to the room he'd heard so much about, but never seen. "Pretend you're sick or something. _Skive_. Whatever it takes."

" _Sirius_ —" Remus protested.

"He'll hear that he didn't finish the job." Sirius' voice was icy, he couldn't help it at all. He was _furious_. At having to leave when it here was where he was needed the most, at not having _anything_ to prove to the Headmaster that the greasy grimeball had tried to kill James. Not even the portraits had seen, Dumbledore had asked already. "He tried to _kill_ him, Moony. He'll try again, or someone else will. And you want to go to bloody _class_ ," he levelled a withering look at his werewolf friend. Couldn't he see what was going on here, what still could happen? Was he that ruddy blind?

_Really?_

"We'll skive," Remus promised at once. Not that blind, then.

"I really _do_ feel sick," Pete supplied. He looked like he needed to find a place to lose his dinner, and soon.

"Good man, Pete," Sirius said, swallowing back his anger. "I'll be on the mirror, and Moony? Thanks, man. You were bloody amazing out there. Now get out of here." Sirius gave him a clap on the shoulder, which was as touchy as he ever got, then followed the elderly wizards into the famed Come-and-Go room at a limp. Remus and Peter watched him go, then exchanged a worried look and turned back, to go spend the rest of tonight with James and his mother.

"He's changed, hasn't he." Peter didn't miss much.

"Yeah. _Loads_." Neither did Remus. He swallowed, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You should've heard him earlier."

"Do you think he'll be… _Padfoot_ again? Like, ever?"

Remus wrapped an arm comfortingly around the chubby Marauder's shoulders.

"No, Pete," he replied honestly. "I don't. Not like he was before," he added. "But he _will_ get better."

"Do you think _James_ will get better?"

"Oh, yeah. Both of them, because we won't let them be anything else."

"But…"

"If he _doesn't_ , we can always ask Sirius to order him to do it."

Peter snorted. "Like that's going to be enough."

"Trust me Pete, it'll do the trick. It's _scary_."

.

* * *

.

James sucked a breath in, even as his eyes opened to off-white, blurry surroundings. He had to… _had_ to… He had no clue what it was that he had to do, but it couldn't wait.

" _James_!" It erased all thoughts from his mind. It was his mother's voice, but it sounded so _strange_ , like she had a bad cold.

He wasn't where he'd been before, he realised, and was _this_ how Sirius felt when he woke up? Like someone had turned the world off only to switch it on someplace else, and battered away at him in between wakings? Did the world tilt like that too, when he woke? He looked at his mother's unfocused face, raising a hand out of instinct to adjust glasses that weren't there. Or trying to; his hand weighed one tonne. As in, metric.

" _Mum_?" he asked. It came out raspy, and his throat felt dry. "What…?"

"My sweet boy," she said, and was she _crying_? "Oh Jamie, you're awake."

James had no answer to that. Everything about him was slow and weak, and deeply cold. The next moment, though, she was sitting on his bed and putting his glasses on his nose, and he could see that she _was crying_. She was also smiling. It was heartbreaking to watch.

"What happened, Mum?" he asked, trying to sit up.

He realised he couldn't, and his Mum confirmed it with a hasty, "No, don't, honey."

"I missed something," James deadpanned, like Sirius usually did. His midriff was beginning to sting something wonderful, his toes felt numb, and why hadn't the room stopped moving around?

"You were attacked, sweetie," his Mum said softly, adjusting his pillows and smoothing out his fringe.

" _What_?"

"Remus barely got you here in time."

She told him how Sirius had known he was hurt, how Remus had found him, brought him here, before he bled to _death_. James listened raptly; he couldn't remember a thing — maybe because he was passed out at the time — but he couldn't remember what had gone on before either. 

Again, he wondered if this was how Sirius woke up every day. It wasn't nice.

"What about Sirius? And Remus?"

"Oh Jamie, you just missed them. All three of them. They'd have loved to see you awake."

"Sirius was _here_?"

"Yes… after what he did, what they all did, your Dad said he'd go spare if he didn't get to see you." She gave him a long, mournful look, still running her fingers through his hair. It was never tangled when she did, but he'd lost brushes trying to tame it. It felt nice. "We thought it was just another of his nightmares, you know," she said.

"But it wasn't."

"No. Terrible as those are, I wish it had been; this is worse."

"Why isn't he here, then?"

"Oh, he wanted to. He tried. But he's not well enough, James, you know that, he could barely stand as it was."

"Yeah. But still." James would have loved to have him here now, if only to put his worries to rest- and he could feel that Sirius was worried - and how would he visit Sirius at all if he himself was stuck _here_?

Thankfully, his Mum had an answer to those unspoken questions.

"Your Dad took him home, but he'll bring him over in the morning, and if you're well enough to travel tomorrow… I think you'll both be better off healing at home."

" _Really_?" And could he be blamed if he found that this was actually the best _ever_ news? His Mum gave him a smile. At least she had stopped crying.

"Really," she confirmed. "And you'll stay at home until you're both good and ready to come back, sweetheart."

"James! You're _awake_!"

He looked away from his Mum's eyes and at Remus and Peter, who had just arrived.

They looked awful. Pete even looked a little sick, but Remus' face was painful to see. He looked… _haggard_. Even if they were both smiling, they looked like they'd been the ones put through a blender. Because that was how James _felt_.

"I hear I've got you to thank for that, Moony," he said, trying to sound upbeat and failing.

Remus blushed to the roots of his hair.

"I just did what Sirius said to do."

"Bless you, Remus, but we know that's not true," his Mum was getting good at spotting lies, James noted absently.

"I'll make sure to send him a gift basket as well, then." he replied. Merlin's yellowed knickers, he was _tired_. He decided he'd never tell Sirius off for complaining about that, ever again. His friend hadn't been exaggerating.

"What are you doing here?" Poops' voice was like nails on a chalkboard.

"We aren't feeling very well, Madam Pomfrey."

"Nice try, Lupin."

"No, really. I feel _sick_ ," Peter said, making the nurse laugh a little in defeat.

"Even if that were true, Mr. Pettigrew—"

"It _is_ ," Pete assured her.

"— it still wouldn't warrant you staying here."

"Do let them stay, Poppy," James' Mum said. "Only for a little while."

"Fine," the nurse said huffily, but James' heart leapt. "You've got half an hour you two, and Betty, give him these. You know how it goes."

"Thank you, Poppy."

"Actually, Mrs. Potter…" Remus helped her sort out the potions, a little embarrassed.

"Sirius said to stay the night," Pete finished for him. James didn't find it surprising, but he didn't get to say as much. Just watching everyone was exhausting. He couldn't even manage to focus enough to reach out to Sirius, whose end of the line was radiating something that made him feel apprehensive.

"Whatever for?" Betty asked with a frown. Peter shrugged.

"He's got a bad feeling, ma'm," Remus replied quietly. "Us as well. So, we'll stay."

"Honestly, Remus. I know it's all terribly frightening, but… that's no reason for all of us to stay up. You've got classes tomorrow."

"Yeah, about that." Remus shrugged helplessly. "He said to skive tomorrow, too."

" _What_?"

"He thinks… he thinks it's necessary," Remus said lamely. "And… he said to stay. So... we're staying."

"You'll need a better excuse, then," James pitched in, but he felt very heavy, and a moment later, he was out of it.

.

* * *

.

"That's you all set," Mr. P stated, surveying his handiwork. Although Betty usually insisted on doing this, Coop didn't think he'd performed too dismally: Sirius was all tucked in, his wounds had been cleaned out and dressed in fresh bandages, most of the potions had gone down the hatch, and he looked quite ready to…

Ah, who was he kidding? The boy was strung out enough to jump out of the bed at the slightest provocation.

"I'm _telling_ you Mr. P," Sirius insisted. "Something's not _right_."

At least he had put his anger aside; however, he hadn't stopped arguing. Ever since he set foot in the house an hour earlier, he hadn't stopped insisting that something was _off,_ that something smelled bad, that they were in danger, right this minute.

It was endless.

Coop understood how he felt. After what he'd been through, after the horror show that James' own injury was, it was only natural that he was all turned around, but it was getting increasingly hard to handle, because Coop for one, didn't _want_ to _handle_ Sirius. He wanted to work with him, but his son's best friend wasn't helping.

It was harder still to keep in mind that the mood swings like he'd witnessed at the Hospital Wing weren't really Sirius' fault. What had Poppy said? That he'd stress over every little thing, even if it was only imagined, and that they needed to help him see what was real and what wasn't. Only, after what they'd just witnessed, how to help Sirius tell reality from an imagined or perceived threat, if he was used to seeing through someone else's eyes? To have a voice in his head that wasn't his own, but James', and yet _another_ that belonged to his dog self?

How to convince him that he was _safe_ , when he had relived years of mistreatment just days ago, when he was still a patchwork of half-healed gashes, lacerations and fractured bones, when James had been mortally wounded less than three hours earlier?

And _how_ , pray tell, to keep one's patience intact throughout?

Coop was, as a rule, very laid back, but he'd reached his limit hours ago, and he didn't want to lose his temper at Sirius… but the lad's insistence that they were being targeted, _tonight_ or _tomorrow_ or _soon, anyway,_ was relentless, and nothing he was told to the contrary would convince him otherwise.

Coop knew that the authoritarian approach wouldn't help him here — not that he had ever been that way — and he was well aware that he could undo weeks of hard-earned progress in an instant. Or worse.

So yes, Sirius was maybe strong, and he was the most resilient, courageous and loyal boy he'd ever met, certainly, but Coop knew very well that he or Betty could wholly destroy him with _one_ unkind gesture, with a _single_ harsh word, and therein lay his problem. He just didn't know how to address it without putting his foot in it.

Frankly, Coop was afraid to make a mistake that could have lasting consequences.

For all his toughness, Sirius was incredibly fragile, and this vulnerability was something that Betty and Coop had created in him themselves.

It was unintentionally, nay, _unknowingly_ done, born out of their natures and their earnest caring for the boy, but Coop had realised only after talking to him last night, that what they had done had the power to reconstruct the young wizard and heal him completely, or break him beyond all hopes of recovery. And he wasn't even exaggerating.

Sirius was accustomed to harshness, to emotional isolation, to cruelty, even. All his life, he had been taught that emotion was weakness; that he must be a certain way, because he was a Black, and as a Black, _the_ Black no less, he wasn't permitted to be happy, or human, or a _child_. He had been raised, first to meet impossible standards and exceed the highest of expectations, and then discarded as having no value, except to be made to suffer, because he was nothing but a source of shame, worthless and useless for anything else.

All because he'd dared to show _mercy_ , when he was six; to befriend someone and care about them deeply, when he met and bonded with James; to _love_ something other than his duty, when he rescued Snuffles, the little puppy that had given him the first taste of real love and the happiness it could bring.

Sirius had been made to butcher that love, in the most brutal of ways.

And atrocious as the method was, Orion _had_ succeeded.

Except for James, whom he'd do _anything_ for, Sirius had never dared to love, truly love, anything or anyone again. Not even Remus, or Peter. Oh, he _did_ care deeply about them, Coop knew. He'd die for them, in a heartbeat, no problem.

But Sirius didn't _love_ them.

He didn't _dare._

Until now.

Now, he was beginning to love Betty, and Coop himself.

And that _should_ have been a good thing, shouldn't it? If he hadn't witnessed Sirius' memories, Coop would never have known what he and his wife were doing to him. But he _had_ , and he was beginning to understand that for Sirius, love of any kind had always come at a terrible price, and he was waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop. That, Coop found, complicated everything, and it didn't help at all when faced with the prospect of having to _parent_ him.

It had been Sirius' own words on why he'd let Coop see his past that had driven it home: _"…at least you'd know the truth, you could do something about it."_ Coop regarded Sirius for a long moment, during which Sirius looked right back at him. He could still see it, plain as day, and it made his heart ache. Sirius was waiting to be punished, and he wasn't even conscious of it.

Opening oneself to love, to real love, the kind that bolstered you to the greatest achievements, the kind that was unconditional and true, required either great innocence or great courage, because it required the complete surrender of everything you were, flaws and all, unto someone else. That was why every child was born with it, and it was up to the parents to teach that child that love would be met with love, to teach the child that he could be imperfect, and scared, and small, that he could make mistakes, that he could trust blindly and wouldn't be betrayed by those who loved him. James had grown up this way, cherished and adored, and that was how it should be, right?

Unless your name was Orion or Walburga Black. They'd taught their eldest that he wasn't worth their love, or _anyone's_ , no matter what he did. That if he'd ever loved anyone, he would be made to destroy them.

Loving anything and anyone boundlessly, required taking a risk, and it was an exercise of pure and utter trust, and truth, and opening oneself up for someone else to cherish or to destroy. This required being vulnerable, and for Sirius it would mean laying himself bare, opening up his most hidden self and surrendering it to someone else, to do with as they pleased.

Coop had realised last night, that Sirius had done just that, when he let him into his innermost memories.

For a soul so terribly wounded, so primed for failure, the leap had been even greater. Because it _hadn't_ occurred in search for acceptance or being loved.

Sirius didn't even know what that _was_.

Sirius had done it to give him, as James' father, all the reasons and means to undo him. He had surrendered to his mercy, to do with as he pleased. He'd given Coop "the full truth, so he could do _something_ about it." And in Sirius' mind, there was only one thing that Coop _could_ and _would_ do about it. In his subconscious mind, Sirius believed he deserved punishment for the past he dragged around like a rock. For days now, he had been waiting for Coop and Betty to pass judgement on him, and maybe now, for them to blame him for James' current state. And he wasn't even _aware_ of it.

Coop hadn't asked for such power. Betty hadn't either. But Sirius had given them just that, and it was their turn to use that power to do something he didn't expect at all and teach him what James had learnt before he could walk and talk, that they loved him back, flaws and all.

_One_ harsh word. _One_ unkind gesture.

He'd never dare to open up again.

He'd never truly heal.

So, obviously, Coop couldn't just tell Sirius to shut up and go to sleep, could he? Tact was required here, and Coop wished Betty were here to handle this. She'd have had him pumped full of Dreamless Sleep potion and snoring within a few seconds, but she was with their baby boy, and it was unfair to tear her away to do something about their other boy that Coop should technically, be able to do without a problem.

Coop felt Sirius tense up when he reached to take his hand, to change the dressing on it.

"I'm not _imagining things_ , Mr. P."

Coop undid the padding around Sirius' wrist, from which they'd extracted countless curses born of hatred, heaving a sigh.

"I never said you did," he replied gently, examining the wound. He could still see the bedspread _through_ it, but it was closing. It was going slowly, but it _was_ getting better. He reached for a strong numbing potion and uncorked it. "Sirius, I know you're worried. I can't ask you not to be, and I know there's every chance that you're right."

"Then why are we even he—"

"Because you're still worse off than he is," Coop interrupted softly. "And you overexerted yourself terribly today." Coop used an eye dropper to let a single drop of potion fall onto his wrist. Sirius, who was watching in a sort of horrified fascination, sucked in a breath, then slumped back on his pillow a moment later.

"Does it hurt?"

"No, sir. Not anymore."

Coop nodded, adding more drops of numbing potion to the first, and then repeating the process with a restorative.

"It's natural to feel all discombobulated after what just happened, you're wired and expecting the worst." Coop smiled at him reassuringly. "We felt like this too, when you first came to us. But you need to _sleep_ , son."

"But—"

"Come now, Sirius," Coop tried again, to get him to listen. "Let me worry about _your_ safety for a bit, alright?"

"But the _smell_ —"

"There's no smell, Sirius."

"Well, it comes and goes," he argued.

"Ah. And what about right now?"

"Nothing, sir." Sirius admitted, but he still seemed conflicted. Coop shook his head, trying to understand this half child he and Betty had taken it unto themselves to protect and raise this final stretch unto adulthood.

"See? No smell, nothing to worry about, right? You said it yourself."

"I s'pose."

"Look son, it's one in the morning," Coop told him. "We both need to get some sleep, and the sooner we do, the sooner we'll be at school to see him again. I _promise_ you, the alarm spells will sound if anyone tries to come here; we have wards upon wards for protection; the fireplaces are all blocked, and the one in my office only goes to Hogwarts. Nobody can apparate in or out, and the Hollow Watch comes by the house every hour. If the Death Eaters do come by, we'll have more than fair warning, son. Please," he said, "if you won't trust me, then at least trust _that_."

"I _do_ trust you, Mr. P," Sirius answered honestly, as if the mere suggestion of the contrary was unthinkable. "And I believe you too, it's just… I'm _sorry_ , but I _can't_ shake it. I feel like they're standing out there, just… waiting."

"There's nobody out there, Sirius, we looked. Remember?"

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Let me worry about safety, son, you focus on getting better."

"How does that even work?" Sirius asked in defeat, but he was smiling a little.

"Focusing on... something you have no control over?" Coop mused, mock-thoughtfully. "I don't know, but everyone seems to say that to the convalescing. And I believe you'll have a great need for your energy. James will need you a lot, and..."

"And I can't help him for anything if I'm like this," Sirius replied. "I hear you, Mr. P. I just can't..."

"I could give you some Dreamless Sleep potion," Coop offered. "Maybe just a sip, or half of one, to get you started. Poppy was right when she said you need your rest, lad. You're doing so much better, but you could hardly stay on your feet earlier."

"I just feel… I _know_ he's planning something. I don't think James was attacked at random either. They tried to _kill_ him, Mr. P, you _saw_ —" Sirius cut himself off, and Coop could see his distress surfacing, only for a moment, but it spoke of everything that Sirius couldn't put words to, because he didn't have them.

An instant later, he was holding him close, and Sirius was tense again. Coop didn't let go, running a hand up and down his back, just as he'd done for James countless times before over the years, when he was upset. It worked, too: gradually the tension faded from his shoulders, and Sirius was slumped against him, warm —he'd have to remember to give him a febrifuge — and heavy.

"You did a good thing today, Sirius," Coop said softly. "You saved our James."

"All I did was yell."

"No. There was more to it than that."

The silence stretched on for a while, during which neither of them moved.

"I did this, didn't I?"

"What makes you say that?" Coop pulled away from Sirius, to look at him.

"I led them to you. I brought them here," he said wretchedly. "And when they couldn't get James, they—"

"Sirius," Coop said clearly, but no less gently for it. "You _didn't_. It was, and is, _none_ of your fault. The Dark Side has known for years where we live, they didn't need _you_ for directions."

"But—"

"He's wanted James since he was born," Coop interrupted. "That's _his_ twisted head making lives hell, not you. All you're guilty of, Sirius, is doing the unthinkable to keep James _safe_."

"Then why do I feel so… so…" Even now, he couldn't say it. Coop wasn't about to push.

"I feel the same way, lad."

"I guess I'll take you up on that potion. As long as it's just one sip."

"Let's try with half of one," Coop said. "Just in case." Sirius nodded his agreement.

"And I'll have the elves take turns keeping watch tonight, how's that?"

"That works."

.

* * *

.

"Ah, smell that _air_ ," Voldemort stretched his arms to the overcast sky, filling his lungs to bursting. He was savouring this moment, the last few hours before his great achievement was complete.

Around him, fifty-two intakes of breath were heard.

"It's good air, My Lord." Ever the sycophants, they didn't have the faintest idea of what he was on about.

"Rookwood, do focus on widening the Mark inside the Mimic," he instructed in a long-suffering tone.

Rookwood seemed to see the sense in that, because he returned to casting his spells on the Dark Mark that Bella had charmed into the very heart of Godric's Hall's defences. The Mimic Charm that upheld the Dark Mark masked it as being an old spell, while it corrupted the age-old protections into working in the Dark Lord's favour rather than against him.

Basically, they were convincing the wards that they were welcome inside, and after three days of hard work, they were nearly done.

It was a complicated weave of spells, which had required the focused use of several of his best ward breakers, but so far, they had been successful in remaining undetected. There had been, as yet, no indication that anyone had so much as noticed their presence. Of course, they couldn't really see or hear what was going on in the house, being out of sight of the manor, but they'd been remarkably undisturbed by anyone.

Voldemort sucked in the crisp winter air with relish.

_He_ was bearing witness to over two millennia of Muggle-loving supremacy, he was savouring the taste of that freedom, which he would soon crush between his fingers. Voldemort was rendering his mockery of a homage to Godric's line, which would end _tonight_.

After tonight, Godric's Hollow would be remembered only as the place where the Potters had died. Because after they died, he would destroy the entire village: Every Muggle fool. Every blood traitor. Every child that had been corrupted into a life of lies. By dawn, they would be one large mountain of rotting bodies, the picturesque village a pile of ashes and rubble.

The air here would never again be this sweet. This time tomorrow, it would be a stench that would serve to cow the country to bend to the Dark Lord's will.

"Master." Bellatrix was standing next to him, smiling widely. She was among the very few who dared not follow him on _all_ his whims. He forgave her, on account that she was his favourite, his best and most inspired Death Eater. His craziest too, if hearsay was to be trusted; people said that Bellatrix Lestrange didn't have all the sparks in her wand.

Voldemort cared not for such things. He liked that there were members of the Black bloodline serving _him_. She delivered, and that mattered most to him.

Like now, when she was handing him a letter.

Voldemort smiled widely, flashing perfect white teeth at her upon reading the missive.

"You have outdone yourself, Bella. Name your reward, I shall see that you have it."

"I want to kill him. Kill him slow."

"Not Potter, surely? He is _mine_ , we have been over this," he reminded her. Maybe she _was_ a little insane. Voldemort, much as he enjoyed their little arguments, had never believed he'd have to argue with her over prisoners, as though they were toys.

"Then Black, Master. Give me Sirius to play with."

"If and when he is found, my dear Bella, you shall have him. But _only_ if you promise not to kill him outright." There was one spell he wanted to cast on that boy. She could keep the shell after.

"Thank you, Master!"

"Are the spells coming along?"

"Oh _yes_. We shall breach the wards at three in the morning sharp, as you desired."

"Excellent."

Voldemort sat back on a fallen tree trunk, glancing at his watch. In one hour, he would destroy the Gryffindor dynasty once and for all— and he would have young James bargain for their lives before they were snuffed out.

And the world would _know_.

He sniffed the winter breeze, thinking that Rookwood had been right: this was indeed good air.

Had Sirius been awake just then, he would have claimed it smelled like the sewage from a medicine factory.

But he had downed his Dreamless Sleep potion — half a sip, not more, just to get him started — and was presently deep in the arms of Morpheus.

.

* * *

.

In Godric's Hall, Fleamont Coppernillius Potter was checking that everything was locked up and in order. Hinky, Dinky, and Slinky the elves were helping him eagerly. The others had been given the dreaded task of washing the boys' laundry and the more enjoyable one of getting everything ready for James' arrival (which he hadn't told Sirius about, so it would be a surprise), and they would be busy until morning.

Nothing seemed out of place. Everything was sealed up, warded, riddled with fresh alarms on doors and windows.

Sirius would be pleased.

He'd call Angus in the morning, to ask him to help re-ward the owl accesses after they returned from Hogwarts. They were getting old and starting to fail. He could bring Nina over, make a day out of it.

Sirius would be glad to see her, and would maybe not fret as much.

And by then, Coop mused, James would be ready to come home and finish healing here.

Now that would make Sirius, not to mention James, _truly_ happy. Coop looked in on his surrogate son, who was fast asleep at last. He'd ask the elves to pick up the room, you could hardly walk around without tripping over toys and things.

Coop yawned heartily, sniffing the air after. Sirius had said there was a bad smell he associated to Dark Magic. Coop shook his head, chuckling tiredly. The things he came up with sometimes.

There was nothing in the air at all.

.

* * *

.

"It is time, my Lord."

"Is everyone in position, Rodolphus?" Voldemort rose to his feet, drawing his wand. He checked his watch. Three o'clock in the morning on the dot. His Death Eaters were getting better at coordinating things.

"Yes, my Lord. The path is open for Nagini, my Lord. We are ready, and the Carrows arrived as well."

"Excellent." He called his snake, who wasted no time slithering across the frozen grounds leading to the Potter home.

Voldemort could taste the victory in the still crisp air.

"Prepare to attack. Tonight, we burn the Potters alive." He jabbed his wand up in the air, and hissed, " _MORDSMORDRE_!"

The Dark Mark formed beneath the clouds, shimmering ominously.

.

* * *

.

In the upstairs bedroom with the window overlooking the village, Sirius jolted awake, his nose prickling most uncomfortably. The clock chimed three in the morning, but went ignored.

Sirius tried to shake his grogginess off, focusing on his nose.

It smelled like— like— _oh no_.

The fart smell was back, and it was no longer faint — now it filled the room, as though he were next to a Muggle medicine factory, or outside a hospital sewer.

Instantly alarmed, he grabbed his wand and swung his legs out of bed, listening hard. The dog in him had his hackles rising, while its mind was barking out, _DANGER! DANGER!_

His human mind was cursing worse than his chessmen, who were running around the room, looking for the enemy.

_This is not happening_.

But it _was_.

He'd followed Mr. P's advice to double-check and he'd _looked_ out the window; he'd seen them, too many to count, lining up in a single file, as though they were queuing for a film in a Muggle theatre.

Sirius limped out of his and James' room as fast as he could, headed for Mr. and Mrs. P's bedroom. He could hear voices trailing in from outside, still faint, but this time, they were unmistakably _there_.

"Mr. P," he shook the aged wizard awake at a whisper; then shook him some more as Mr. P only stared at him uncomprehendingly. "They're here," Sirius whispered. "We need to _get out_ , now."

"What?" Mr. P sat up with a jolt. "In the _house_?"

"Shh, keep it _down_ ," Sirius hissed. "Yes, _here_ … not in the house, not yet. They're still on the grounds, but they're coming in, and we must leave. _Now_."

"But… how? None of the alarms have gone off."

"I'm not sure, but it smells like... it's bad. It's _bad_." Sirius tugged at Mr. P's arm to get up, and thankfully he did. He was exhausted, Sirius knew, what with James getting hurt earlier, Mr. P was a bundle of nerves, and so was he. "Dark Magic. I told you it smells like hospital farts, can't you smell it?"

Mr. P shook his head, but he was quiet, and at least he was getting out of bed, his glasses on and his wand in hand.

"The Floo. My office," Mr. P instructed, and thankfully, he was keeping his tone down. "I'll tell the elves to hide."

The clapping was something Sirius was sure he would have done without; surely it would be heard beyond the room, but Mr. P ordered the elves to vanish quietly, sending two of them to alert the Aurors and the rest to hide in the woods beyond the grounds and wait it out. Not a moment later, the two of them were stealing towards the wing of the house where Mr. P's fireplace was.

Mr. P eased the door to his office open without a sound, just as a faint creaking noise downstairs told Sirius that the main door of the house had been breached.

Sirius got a faceful of the fart smell at once.

"No, _nonono_ ," he said urgently. "The fireplace is no good. It _reeks_."

"Then, how…?"

"Back door," Sirius said, after listening hard for a moment. "Or — out the window?"

"No jumping. Get under the cloak." Mr. P had the proverbial ace up his sleeve; they both ducked under the invisibility cloak and stole soundlessly out of the office and down the stairs, unseen and undetected by any of the many Death Eaters entering the manor through the front door.

Heart hammering wildly, Sirius saw Voldemort walk inside leisurely and look around.

It was like a bucketful of ice water on his head. Sirius pressed himself instinctively against the banister. He couldn't move with sheer terror. It was all he could do not to transform right there, turn tail and escape. The Trace was gone, he reminded himself; they _couldn't_ tell where he was anymore.

Right…?

_Right_?

There was a tug on his arm, first light, then more insistent, and as he was being pulled down the last few steps by Mr. P - who was actually keeping his head - Sirius tried to shake his fear and crept behind the old wizard silently down the hallway that led to the kitchen.

"I shall wait here," Voldemort's voice carried to Sirius' now much sharper ears, from the Potters' large living room. The bastard was settling in as if he owned the place! His next words, however, were so much worse.

"Bella, kindly bring the Potters to me, and young master Black, if he is indeed here. And make us a Portkey, to have James join us as well, he ought to witness his _family's_ slow demise."

"Yes, right away, my Lord."

It made Sirius' blood turn to ice. He was _bringing James here_!

"Come _on_ , lad," Mr. P. said in the lowest hiss ever. Sirius forced his leaden legs to move.

Heart hammering, he looked over his shoulder. One of the Death Eaters, Bellatrix most likely, gestured at the others to follow, leading the way up the stairs. Some were spreading out, and Sirius could hear things breaking in some of the rooms a moment later. It made him bristle, made him wish — not for the first time — that he could make them stop, but he reminded himself that they had to get out of here before those bastards broke something that _couldn't_ be replaced. They had to get to Hogwarts soon too — or James would be a goner.

They were almost to the mudroom, when cursing and a shrill shriek of outrage were heard that made Mr. P flinch next to him.

"THEY'RE NOT HERE! THE BEDS ARE STILL WARM, THEY MUST HAVE HEARD US! FIND THEM, SPREAD OUT AND _FIND THEM_!"

There was much noise and trampling next, and Mr. P was trying to get Sirius to move, but he was frozen to the spot. There, a few feet ahead, was —

" _Snake_ ," he warned, very quietly.

An enormous pit viper was staring straight at them, nearly invisible in the dark.

Mr. P immediately eased his wand out from under the cloak to cast a spell at it, but the thing instantly lunged with a hiss, so much faster, aiming for his arm with impressive accuracy. Mr. P collapsed, cradling his arm and falling out from under the cloak with a heavy _thump_ , unconscious, maybe dead.

The wand clattering to the floor and rolling out of sight echoed in Sirius' ears as terror gripped him so badly, he couldn't even breathe.

.

* * *

.

TBC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC.
> 
> Let me know what you think of it so far. As Coop would say, one or half of one, to get us started. That would be enough.
> 
> Up next: Sirius might have lost something, but then he finds it again so it's all good in the end. Sort of. Coop impersonates a rainbow. Voldemort has a heart (it's okay to laugh, I couldn't write it with a straight face either), Snape and Narcissa get tasked with a Portkey, and everything's just generally chaotic and stuff.


	14. The Bark Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Lots of fear, chaos and disorder. Sirius finds something he'd lost, Voldemort loses something he had, Coop is the amazing human rainbow, and it's all very hair-raising and stuff. Oh, and the Lord Thingy gets a present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: C'mon, we know it's not really mine.

* * *

**Part Fourteen: The Bark Mark**

**Or to quote Sirius (and Da Man)**

… **And Into the Fire. Or Earth. Or, Anywhere But Here.**

* * *

.

James was enshrouded in fog, floating around in a haze. When the fog cleared, he found himself at home, standing by the window on Sirius' side of the room. He'd been looking at the grounds, at the group of dark-robed witches and wizards lining up to enter.

He was barefoot, heart hammering as he crept out of his and Sirius' room at a limp, tripping over Cussing Chessmen and books scattered around. He could smell rot in the air, thick and heavy and frightening. His leg was hurting, a dull throbbing ache that spread from his knee all the way to his side, but he ignored it.

James made his way to his parents' room, got his Dad out of bed… They needed to leave, quick.

And then he saw Voldemort.

He knew it was him, although he'd never seen him before in the flesh— but Sirius had.

His dream made him apprehensive, made him feel more frightened than he'd ever felt before; James moaned in his sleep, trying to shake the nightmare, trying to get to that warm, floaty nothingness where he'd been before, but nothing would respond.

Until suddenly, a flash of panic, sharp as a blade, made his eyes snap open with a gasp.

He caught a blurry glimpse of his Mum's face, heard her call his name. And then there was Remus, he was sure it was Remus, saying something that was garbled and lost in the sheer terror and despair that had gripped him. He was gasping for air that wouldn't fill his lungs, trying to twist his way out of Sirius' head — because he knew, now he had awoken, that he was in Sirius' head — long enough to _warn them_ , warn them that all wasn't all right at home, that Voldemort was there, and his Dad was hurt, or worse, and Sirius was losing it.

James was too.

Images shifted, feelings and emotions that were raw with urgency mixing in with glimpses of the Godric's Hall grounds; his Dad, bleeding and struggling to breathe; Sirius, trying to get him out of the house, shaking so bad he could hardly move; the flashes of spells and shouts all around — and the ever-present whiteness of the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, where urgent voices were trying to pull him out of the visions as hard as he was himself. It was like being stuck in a whirlwind—

" _James_! James, talk to me honey! What's wrong?"

James' breathing was coming in tiny hitched gasps, as he stared into his Mum's eyes. He could already hear the nurse coming over at a run, and he wondered, for a moment, how _that_ would look. Poops running, that was new—

He gave his spinning head a shake to try and focus.

"He's there," he said, wrenching his eyes closed to regain the connection, which had broken off and made him even more frantic. "He's there. Oh, no— Mum, it's _him_. He's _there_."

"Jamie, what?" his Mum asked, but James' eyes were already glazing over, his mind sucked miles away again, to the field behind their house, where the practice hoops were twisting around like giant liquorice sticks and many — so, _so many_ — people in black robes and silver skull masks were rushing towards him, towards _Sirius_ , who was just standing there, waiting for them, doing something, or thinking of something, he couldn't tell.

James shouted at Sirius in his mind, but the response he got was...

_James, block yourself off, there's a lad._

_Sirius— NO! What's going on?!_

_Hush, James. Block yourself off now, I'm busy here._

Sirius wasn't in any condition to fight anything, James knew. Not a cold, certainly not the Death Eaters closing in around him.

_Sirius, get out of there! They're everywhere!_

_I know. That's the whole point._

He saw spells flashing, felt a sort of hopelessness for his own survival washing over him, along with something else— the determination to go out with a bang.

The pain gripped him an instant later.

.

* * *

.

Mr. P hit the ground, his wand clattering out of sight.

Sirius stood there, staring at him in horror. He knew he had to move, he _must_ — but he _couldn't_. His mind was stuck on an endless string of, _no nonononono no,_ please _no…_ and his throat seemed to have closed over while trying to get a scream out, and simply refused to work one way or the other.

Sirius couldn't breathe.

The snake reared up again and hissed, a sharp sound that pierced his ears like needles.

"Cover the back door!" Voldemort yelled at once. "Nagini has trapped them in the back!"

_That_ snapped Sirius out of his shock, and just as the snake was jerking back, staring at Mr. P's head and clearly considering eating him right away, a gigantic dog appeared, seemingly out of _nowhere_ , sinking its fangs into the snake's throat. It let out a sharp hiss, its body trying to coil around the dog, but Sirius hadn't wrestled a werewolf every month for two years for nothing; he somehow, instinctively, twisted away from the viper's body, his fangs finding and closing around its throat.

There was a _rip_ , the snake screamed — if such a thing was even possible, but it _did_ — and instantly, a shout of rage from Voldemort tore through the house, shaking its very foundations.

The snake slithered away, out of sight, and Sirius hurtled through the back door, Mr. P floating, still unconscious, after him out into the garden. He spat out snake blood and more, wiping his mouth as he went, human again.

In his trembling hand, more by chance than actual presence of mind, was a clump of flesh — one of the snake's venom sacs.

" _NAGINI_! Help her! Get out of my way!" Voldemort screeched, and the part of Sirius' mind that _wasn't_ frozen in fear couldn't believe it; the bastard _did_ care about something, after all. Enough to distract him from killing _them_ for a few moments.

This wasn't true for his followers, though; they were spilling out of the house, breaking windows and firing off spells at him with pretty decent aim.

Ignoring the sharp sting in his right leg, Sirius broke into a run, blindly casting shields behind him. He didn't stop until they'd reached the edge of the forest that marked the end of the Godric's Hall grounds, and dove into the bushes, scrambling to cover them both with the cloak.

Sirius' heart was threatening to leap out of his mouth, as he put the venom sac inside Mr. P's pyjama pocket and tried frantically to revive him, to no avail.

" _Come on, Mr. P_ ," Sirius begged, shaking him some more. "Please, wake up, _wake up_!" But Mr. P just didn't respond to shaking. His breath was laboured, coming in wheezes. Sirius was no Healer, but he knew that this couldn't be good.

All around him, he could hear yelling, shouted orders and snapped responses as the Death Eaters began searching for them. He saw the Dark Mark, shimmering right above the Godric's Hall chimneys, and he felt all hope draining away.

The cold, the darkness of the night, the helplessness he had been trying to keep at bay, were gripping him and not letting go.

It was all crashing on him at once, like drowning, plunging him back to… _before_.

Memories flooded him, the sheer terror of those days he'd been hunted without a pause, of the pain he'd not even quite recovered from, washing away any coherent thought… and leaving only the sheer, primal sort of fear that came of _knowing_ , without a shred of doubt, what would happen if — _when_ — they found him this time.

What Sirius was feeling was _nothing_ the Sorting Hat would put you in Gryffindor for, never mind what Mr. P had to say on the matter.

A groan, guttural and pained, snapped his attention to more immediate problems.

It hit him: This _wasn't_ before. This was _worse_ , _this_ was his most terrible nightmares come true.

"Ssh!" he hissed, as low as he dared. "They're looking for us. Can you… Mr. P, can you sit up?"

The elderly wizard next to him was shivering, cradling his arm, which was bathed in blood. He tried to say something, then fell back onto the icy ground, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

Sirius stared at him, horrified.

Haphazard thoughts ran through his terror-stricken mind, all in a single second. There were many: the guilty — _why did I come here? I did this. I brought this upon them, I_ _ **knew**_ —; the nonsensical — _Why does this always happen when I'm wearing nothing but bloody_ pyjamas _? —;_ the panicked — _he'll worse than kill us, gods he'll kill_ _ **them**_ _all_ —; and finally, _luckily_ , the resolute —

_Over_ _my dead body_.

He suddenly found that he could think again.

Anger was a feeling as good as anything to have, and bugger if he knew how, but he was suddenly _beyond_ furious. He felt all the outrage he'd pent up over so long, eating away at his terror, his helplessness, leaving only the overwhelming desire to _act_ , whatever the cost. It wasn't as if he didn't know what would happen.

He wouldn't live to see the next day, no matter what he did.

Sirius found that it was easy to accept.

It was Penarth all over again, only worse. Because Sirius hadn't _known_ the girl who showed him a kindness and died for it. And he didn't merely _care_ for Mr. P.

Sirius loved the old wizard with all his heart, just as he loved James with his every fibre, and never mind Mrs. P. He ruddy _adored_ her.

And Voldemort had made a big mistake: he had touched each of them tonight. James had nearly died because Voldemort had a stupid craving for him. Mr. P was almost there too, just because he existed. And Mrs. P… hell, Sirius had all but _heard_ her heart break.

It had to _stop_.

And since he was standing — or crouching — here thanks to the very people Voldemort insisted on trying to kill — because Voldemort _wouldn't_ manage, not if he had a say on it — Sirius decided he would be the one who did just that.

If nothing else, he would at least _try_.

A strange wave of calm washed over him. He was no less angry, but once he'd made his choice, it was suddenly easy to move. To think. To _do_.

The reviving spell came to mind at once, courtesy of his equally jump-started brain, and it shot out of his wand an instant after a well-placed tourniquet charm.

"Mr. P," Sirius said, in a steady, urgent voice, "C'mon, wake up."

" _Ungh_."

Ungh was hardly anything, it was hardly a word, but Sirius wasn't picky; _ungh_ was more than enough for him just now. It was better than _yerch_ , at any rate.

He cast a few charms, holding the invisibility cloak up over his head like a tent and keeping his ears pricked up and listening hard for the Death Eaters combing the area for them; one charm cushioned the ground. Another warmed the old wizard up again. And a third, one he'd read about in the books he'd gotten from this very wizard, would give him a fighting chance.

" _Det vobis fortitudo mea_ ," Sirius chanted, as low as he dared. The next instant, he felt as if he was being sapped of whatever little energy he had. But the strength transfer spell _worked_. A moment later, as Sirius rubbed his arms to fight off the suddenly harsher cold, he saw that Mr. P was staring at him in surprise and not a little shock.

"What happened?"

"You've been bitten, by that snake… Mr. P, you've _got_ to go back to Hogwarts, they're coming after James," Sirius told him, as he fastened the cloak under the old wizard's chin, pressed his wand, which he'd ended up holding — he didn't know how, but it was _there_ — into his hand. "Stay under the cloak, the wards end over there by those trees and you'll be able to apparate, or call an elf to take you. I'll hold them off." Sirius slapped the hood on him and straightened up, looking around. The Death Eaters were all over the grounds and a handful of them were already combing the woods.

And just like _that_ , Sirius knew what to do. He had an idea.

"But—"

"Just _go_."

It was a _bad_ idea, as far as ideas could go, but a bad idea was better than no ideas at all, and he went with it, forming a plan before his inner Sirius decided to chicken out. It _was_ tempting.

Then he turned and trotted himself straight back to the field where he and James played Quidditch every time they could, not bothering to hide. For his plan to work, he had to be seen, keep their focus on him and only him. He found it wasn't so different from what he did, at family get-togethers.

Immediately, there was an uproar.

" _There_ he is!"

"GET HIM!"

"I SEE HIM!"

"DON'T LET HIM ESCAPE!"

"Yeah, come and get me," Sirius muttered, jamming his wand into the ground as deep as it would go with a muttered incantation and stepping on it, directing the beginnings of a large-scale spell into the ground. "Or at least, y'know, _try_."

He wasn't sure it would work, he'd never even attempted a transfiguration at this scale before, but it was all he had, just now. It was also, probably, going to be his last one ever. Unless, y'know, he was immensely lucky.

_Best make it good, then. Because I'm_ never _this lucky._

Spells were flying almost at once, but Sirius had anticipated _that_. He rolled aside from a bone-breaking curse, shooting back a bunch of fiery arrows from his hand — his favourite element spell _ever_ — and hit at least one. He hadn't tried it before either, he couldn't see who it was that he'd hit, but that scream had been quite satisfying and told him that he'd make that spell part of his personal signature.

Provided he lived long enough to _have_ signature spells, of course.

He cast another wandless spell on the practice hoops, which made them come to life, spitting out ice and twisting about like gigantic liquorice whips. A handful of Death Eaters were swept aside, thrown against the house. Sirius paid no attention to that though, he was busy dodging curses and focusing as best he could on the ground below—

"DON'T LET HIM ESCAPE! HE'S _MINE_!"

Voldemort was _angry_. Sirius had been counting on that too, for his plan to work. He needed all the Death Eaters in one place, somewhere they _couldn't_ apparate away, and he needed them focused on _him_. The fastest way to do that, was if he just stayed put — and alive — long enough for them to come to him.

" _EVERYONE_! SURROUND THAT INSOLENT BOY!"

"Thank you, Lord Thingy," Sirius muttered sarcastically. "That's right, folks. Gather round, quick as you like."

He wasn't sure he understood yet all the reasons for and intricacies of his recently rediscovered past; he didn't know why he'd been dealt this crappy hand of late either; all he knew, was that he was turning into a hell of a cynic out of it. His expectations were being met well beyond what he'd dared to contemplate, during those full two seconds he'd devoted to thoroughly thinking his plan through.

Inwardly, Sirius couldn't believe his luck. They were bloody _falling_ for it—

And he was falling too, next, with a yelp that was as yet more surprised than pained, as his bum leg gave way with a sickening _crunch_. At this rate he'd end up with a peg leg like Moody's, he thought nonsensically, teeth gritted to keep from crying out. They always, _always_ hit the same one, _gah—_

_SIRIUS!_ Exploded in his head next, panicked and pained. Sirius inwardly cursed. He'd been so focused on connecting with James earlier that he'd left himself wide open, hadn't even _thought_ of blocking him out. This must be the worst waking ever for his friend, feeling curses hit you wasn't fun even when you knew they were coming—

_James, block yourself off, there's a lad._

_Sirius— NO! What's going on?!_

_Hush, James. Block yourself off now, I'm busy here._

Sirius gasped in a lungful of air, cast a shield which shattered a second later, rolled out of the way of a bright yellow beam, his leg searing sharply.

_Sirius, get out of there! They're everywhere!_

_I know. That's the whole point._

He had to focus on the ground, had to keep himself from getting hit— he couldn't think of Occlumency just now.

_WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! SIRIUS, GET — OUT — OF — THERE!_

_Shut up a second! Let me focus here!_ Sirius flattened himself on the freezing ground, and a sickly green curse aimed at his back narrowly missed him and hit someone else. Sirius didn't stop to look, he was trying to get up, get on his feet again. 

Bellatrix giggled somewhere nearby. She was suddenly close, much _too close_ , and Sirius spun around to face her entirely too late. He'd gotten distracted, had completely overlooked the handful of Death Eaters taking aim all around him.

He heard more than felt them all hit: Bone-breakers, something that felt like it was trying to pull his bones through his skin, Slashing Curses, a whip that burnt through his thin layer of clothing, twice, thrice —

Sirius yelped. In his head, James screamed out.

Something whacked him on the head with a _crack_ , sending him flying to a nasty hard landing, and his vision split in half. It felt like a handful of Bludgers had just barrelled into him.

It was the Yule all over again.

He heard laughter, heard the Death Eaters' trademark jeering— and there was James in his mind, going spare with pain and frantic worry.

_Ow—OW! SIRIUS! Get out of there!_

_James, shut up! Let me think and get out of my head!_

Sirius tried to block him out—

White-hot pain quickly spread everywhere, and Sirius only realised that someone had cast a Cruciatus when he was reeling, spastic with burning agony. James' screams in his head only made it worse, but the curse wasn't being lifted for ages — And then there was Bellatrix again, a knife in hand, cackling like a maniac.

His shoulder was on fire next. He heard another Cruciatus being laid on top of the previous one, the second curse focusing on one single spot. Wherever Bellatrix cut, it was torment beyond anything he'd ever felt before.

_Gods, it hurts_ —

_Make it stop! Make it stop makeitstop please makeitstop_ _—_ James was wailing in his mind, but he couldn't make it stop, he couldn't even move, he just _couldn't_.

He had to focus… _focus, DAMMIT!_

"STOP! HE IS _MINE_ TO DEAL WITH!"

Lord Thingy came through once more.

The curses stopped, the pain stopped coming in waves. Sirius had hoped for Voldemort to take control; one thing he _knew well,_ was how the Munchers _killed_. And he'd hoped Voldemort would be mad enough at him to want to turn it into a show.

He wasn't disappointed in that last.

Sirius cracked his one working eye open. He was all jerking limbs and burning nerves, panting but unable to quite get the smallest breath in — he looked up, to see a very blurry Dark Lord towering over him, and who had turned the world into a tilty— what was the word? Tilt-a-something. Thing.

Off-task, Sirius' inner self wondered if all the Death Munchers had assembled yet, or if it would be good form to wait another five minutes for stragglers and late comers.

Then he wondered if _he_ had five minutes left if that, and decided they'd all been given long enough time to arrive. Timeliness was important. They _were_ all British, after all; it wasn't as if they didn't know the most basic of rules.

"Hello again, little Lion." Red eyes flashed at him with fury. "You'll die today."

He'd made the Lord Thingy _very_ angry, if he was pointing out the obvious like that.

As he'd planned. Making people mad, he'd always been good at _that_.

The red eyes bored into his own, and Sirius felt his newly-regained confidence waver. Even James had gone silent in his head, but he could feel his torment, his mounting horror at the sight, as an extension of himself. Sirius couldn't blame him: One look into those eyes was enough to make him feel like running yet again… He would, if he could stand, but he couldn't move.

But then, he thought of Mr. P, lying in those bushes back there, dying and without a chance for help… and he swallowed back his fear, a bunch of choice insults that were fighting to leave his mouth (which would only have incensed lord Thingy _further_ ), and maybe even his tongue, he couldn't tell.

"'Lo, lord Thingy," he said thickly, but it carried, to judge by the outraged shouts from the Death Eaters. Deep down, Sirius was syphoning his every last ounce of magic into something else altogether, which was growing, unnoticed, below their feet. His spell was nearly ready, it was so _close_ -

Voldemort's fingers were suddenly digging into his throat, like a vice. Sirius was being pulled up, and forget the spell, his focus was suddenly on fighting to _breathe_.

" _Behold_ ," Voldemort's voice carried clearly across the grounds. "Behold what happens to those who dare defy us, defy ME and side with the Mudbloods!"

A deafening cheer erupted. Sirius was seeing black specks obscuring his one working eye, and he realised that he would never finish what he'd started, after all.

_A pity, it would've been a brilliant bit of magic._

" _Behold_ the face of treason to the Pureblood Cause!"

The face of treason couldn't get a breath in, so it wasn't exactly something nice to behold, but the Death Eaters erupted in an ovation all the same.

Someone — Malfoy, he was willing to bet — started a chant of, "Kill! _Kill_! KILL!" that was picked up at once by everyone present. Sirius' own inner chant went something like, ' _Air_! _Air_! _Air_!' but public opinion apparently won out.

"This filthy _blood-traitor_ has defied his heritage enough. He has defied his own blood enough. Tonight he shall be made an example of, so that everyone shall know what happens to those who think that they can deny me and live—"

There was a flash of light, out of nowhere. Something that made Voldemort let go with a yell, hands flying to his eyes, and Sirius found himself sprawled on the frozen ground, coughing and shaking and trying to get his mangled windpipe to work. Sirius' wand was still buried deep in the grass, and somehow, by sheer luck, he landed his hand on top of it.

His spell was ready, and nobody was any the wiser. They were all twisting around, looking for the source of the spell that had hit the lord Thingy.

"Who _did_ _that_?" Bellatrix shrieked.

Sirius couldn't believe his luck. He flashed the enraged, squinting Voldemort a grin, just because.

"Goodbye, Lord Thingy," Sirius said next. It came out strangled. " _Terra glutio_."

" _What_?" Voldemort said, nonplussed.

The next instant, the ground opened up— and swallowed Sirius whole, closing up again right after.

"NOT _AGAIN_!" Bellatrix wailed.

Sirius couldn't but chuckle. He felt like he was falling apart, James was screaming in his mind again, hurting badly and upset enough to leave proper punctuation aside— _WHERE ARE YOU DAMN YOU PADFOOT ANSWER ME DAMN YOU I'LL KILL YOU MYSELF IF YOU DON'T ANSWER_ — and he still couldn't quite get a full breath in, nor did he trust himself to stand, but _one_ thing must be said about the Death Eaters: their faces, as far as he could see, _were_ _priceless_.

He was sitting where the ground had spat him out, behind the bush he'd started out from, where he'd left James' Dad.

" _Sirius_ —" a wheezy voice said next to him.

"One second." Sirius rasped. One more thing, and he'd be able to focus on something else. He tapped his wand lightly on the ground and intoned, " _Manducor terram._ "

A hole opened up in the ground, right underneath the Death Eaters' feet, forming a maw the size of his and James' beloved practice field, with fangs the size of broomsticks and a gullet wide enough to swallow the Munchers whole. The hoops he had turned into gigantic whips were sweeping the Death Eaters into the huge maw as they clambered over each other in a frenzy, trying to escape the trap. The group of Death Eaters, even Voldemort, vanished into it within the next second, and the fanged thing closed.

Then it started to chew.

Screams and enraged shrieks reached his ears next. It was a beautiful sound.

"That'll teach them." Sirius felt very satisfied, very wired and very, _very_ shaken up. Next, he shuddered. Once he started, though, he didn't seem to be able to _stop_.

"Sirius—" Mr. P, of course, hadn't left. Sirius wasn't really surprised. He'd just, y'know, _hoped_. "That… that was…"

"On page twenty-three of the element spellbook." Sirius wiped some blood from his eyes, only noticing then that his head was throbbing fit to burst. He ignored it. "I didn't think it would work so well. Thanks for distracting him, Mr. P; what did you do?"

"Conjunctivitus Curse,"'Mr. P wheezed. He sounded weaker than before. "If it's good enough for a dragon…"

Sirius turned to where he suspected James' Dad was, but saw only empty air. He reached out a hand and pulled the hood of the cloak off Mr. P's head. What he saw made him suck in a breath; the old wizard was going all sorts of colours. Purple figured prominently, and green, red and blue. Half his face was swollen and one eye was dropping, just like the corner of his mouth.

"For the love of Merlin, lad! What have you _done to yourself_?" Mr. P sounded horrified at the sight of him.

"You're one to talk. Have you seen," Sirius hunted for a suitable word, settled on, " _you_?"

He was beginning to believe that all this excitement couldn't be good for Mr. P. He was _old_. And he looked even _older_. And kind of like a rainbow trout left out in the sun too long.

"I thought I told you to go?" There was no reproach in his tone, only worry. He hadn't really expected him to listen; the man _was_ a Potter.

"Yes…" Mr. P said weakly. "We must go now." Sirius decided against arguing.

"Yes, Mr. P."

_SIRIUS! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!_ It made him cringe.

_We're on our way. Stop shouting. Tell Poops to get some antidote for a snake bite ready._

James stopped hollering in his mind, and Sirius could suddenly hear voices and other sounds beyond the Death Eaters' screaming. Never mind the urgency he already felt for Mr. P's declining… _everything_ — the Aurors were arriving, maybe some of the villagers too. If they found them, Mr. P wouldn't get to see a Healer for _ages_.

Adults always took so long to do any little thing.

"I never thought I'd see that here," Mr. P was staring at the house. Or rather, at the Dark Mark above it. He sounded heartbroken.

"Don't worry, Mr. P, that's easily fixed." Despite the urgency of the situation, Sirius flourished his wand at the sky. " _Canem Rugiens_."

The old wizard let out a startled, appreciative laugh.

It was music to Sirius' ears.

.

* * *

"Last time I tried this, I splinched myself," Sirius warned Mr. P a few short moments later, heaving the old wizard to his feet by the tree line where the apparition block ended. He was leaning on him to try and catch his breath, but it still wasn't quite working out. Sirius was operating on the mother of all adrenaline rushes, and he was taking full advantage of it while it lasted. Later on, he knew he'd regret ever moving at all. If he got to wake up again; he doubted it somehow.

"Did you read my notes?" Mr. P asked, his voice a thin sliver. His strength transfer spell was failing, and Sirius doubted he could cast another.

"I did, but…"

"Go for it, son. I trust you'll manage."

"That makes one of us, sir."

" _Master_!" A shrill voice broke his concentration. "Master, you is hurted!"

"Hey, Hinky… or Dinky," Sirius said, deciding that the underpants he was wearing had just been promoted to the status of Lucky Knickers. "Or, you know… Hinky _and_ Dinky, I can't tell. There's one thing we _do_ need just now."

.

* * *

.

Severus bobbed up and down on his toes impatiently. Had he known that Peter Pettigrew did the same exact thing when he was excited, he would have desisted from this behaviour at once. But nobody had ever told him, because not even the slimiest of Slytherins liked talking to him.

It wasn't the bad breath — some of them weren't too down with personal hygiene either — or the stink he perpetually seemed to exude — although that contributed — it was all of him that they disliked. He was rude, aloof even though his father was a filthy Hufflepuff Mudblood, bandying that he was the last of the Princes, the Ninth High House; it was that he never helped anyone but himself and manipulated everyone within reach for his own advancement. That, and… most kids really feared him. He was petty, vengeful, and loyal to no-one.

Of course, Severus wasn't aware of any of that either, because, again, nobody really liked talking to him.

Presently one Narcissa Black was being forced into doing just such a thing, which secretly amused him. They were in the owlery, where she had dragged him — after shaking him awake — upon receiving a letter from Bellatrix that said quite simply to await instructions before the night was through.

"Do you think they'll want him delivered tonight?" Severus asked expectantly.

"What do I know, Snape?" She retorted, her nose twitching as though fighting to go into grimace mode. She had been this way for an hour already. "All the letter said was to wait."

"I just hope they hurry. I'd hate for him to be delivered dead."

"Your instructions were _only_ to injure him. If he dies, you may as well go with him to be dealt with."

"What's the problem, if he's dead either way?" Severus asked. "The Dark—"

"He wants him for himself, and rumour has it, he wants him alive."

"Whoops." Severus smiled obnoxiously, but deep down worry sparked. Like with any good fire, it soon spread and was hard to put out.

If anyone had told Severus as little as five minutes ago that he'd be hoping for James Potter to get better, he'd have laughed in their face. Now…

That dratted owl couldn't get here fast enough.

He checked his watch, looking out the open windows into the night. It was nearly half three in the morning.

"How much longer?"

"I don't _know_ , Snape." Narcissa's tone held a warning he chose not to ignore.

So they waited in silence, until, almost at a quarter to four, an owl fluttered soundlessly towards her outstretched arm. It carried a scroll and a package.

"What does it say, then?" he asked impatiently, watching Narcissa read.

"There's a Portkey in the box," she replied. "We are to put it on Potter, it's set to go... at ten past four. It's barely enough time."

Severus opened the box. Inside was an innocent-enough looking roll of gauze.

"What are we waiting for then?" he snapped. "Come on."

.

* * *

.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen how the bond between James and Sirius operated. It was, however, the first time it was so bad.

Remus had seen how it worked when one of them was in danger, once before. James had been flying solo, practicing some stunts, and had drifted too far into the Forbidden Forest. He'd fallen from his broomstick, after pulling out of a Wronski Feint an instant too late.

He and Sirius had been in detention together, washing up the lunch dishes, joking about some stupid thing or other, when it happened. Sirius had broken off mid-sentence, his eyes glazing over.

What Remus remembered most clearly was the shattering noise of the plate Sirius had been holding as it fell to the kitchen floor; everything that followed had been a chaotic blur after Sirius doubled over, then went instantly… well, like he'd been earlier. Sirius had found James of course, helped by Remus himself, exactly in the same way in which he'd directed him to find James earlier. Somehow, Sirius just had _known_. He'd also felt James' every injury, had told Pomfrey exactly what was wrong— from the obvious broken ribs to the slightest twinge on his shoulder, every last scrape… and when James was given painkillers, Sirius just… suddenly felt better. In a blinking.

But that was worlds different from what he was seeing now, what he'd been witnessing for nearly half an hour.

James was asleep when it started, for one. Added to that, he was already very badly injured. He'd lost a lot of blood, and Sirius was in bloody _Wales_.

Distance didn't seem to affect their bond, and for all that Remus had envied them for it for years, right now he realised it was more curse than blessing.

He wasn't sure that sharing jokes with a thought or headbutting their way through reading assignments was really worth this sort of torment.

For the better part of the last half hour, James had been twitching, moaning in his sleep, hyperventilating and jerking at random. Remus' nose however, had picked up on a scent he associated with fear — that was what had told him something wasn't right. Well. Less right.

But now…

James had been screaming his throat raw for the longest five minutes of Remus' life, gripped by seizures they couldn't stop. The nurse was yelling at Remus to help hold him down, and Peter was looking after his Mum, who was near hysterics.

James was bleeding again, too, and it made it so hard to focus.

"Help me, Lupin, turn him on his side before he hurts himself!"

Remus did, and a moment later the screaming stopped. James' eyes were glazed over, open wide. He was shaking like mad, jerking as though he was having a fit. His mouth was moving, forming words, but no sound came out.

"James? James, answer me!" Remus shouted.

James let out a strangled sort of moan… Suddenly he was choking, grabbing wildly at his throat.

"What now?" Remus asked the nurse desperately. Pomfrey cast a spell on him, to help him breathe. She shook her head, horrified and clearly at a loss.

"Lupin… I just don't know. There's nothing wrong with his throat at all."

Remus felt a twinge of fear run down his spine. James' face was going blue, and he was clearly struggling to breathe.

And then, just as abruptly as it had started, James stopped thrashing, lay still for a few moments. Was it over? Remus took a step back, then another. The smell of blood was filling the room, and it would get worse when the nurse started to treat that. Suddenly James sat up, his hair on end and his eyes wild.

" _Muuuum_!" he shouted.

"Jamie, I'm here! What happened?"

"It's him, it's, it's Voldemort- it's _him_! He's at home—" James lapsed for a few seconds. "Dad's hurt," he said next, gasping for air. "He was… he was bitten by a snake — he was…"

What he was, Remus never found out.

There was a loud _crack_ next, followed by two dull _thuds_. He shot around—

There at the foot of James' bed, lay James' Dad and Sirius, whose head hit the floor with a _thunk_. An elf dressed in a woollen pillowcase and a doily on its head was holding on to them.

James let out a sound that was half moan, half whimper, and all distress.

Remus was close to joining in.

The bits of Mr. Potter that weren't covered by the invisibility cloak were dreadful to see, and Sirius was six ways of beaten up, lying on his side, bleeding as badly as James had earlier. His face was bathed in blood, and Remus took another step towards the door, feeling sick to his stomach. The blood was flowing freely onto the floor, filling the room with the sickening, oh, so _enticing_ smell.

It made him hungry.

The nurse rushed over to help them, but no sooner had she touched Sirius that he jerked awake, sucking in a sharp breath. His right eye was bloodshot and so dilated the iris was gone, the other was a pinprick.

"Him first," Sirius said, in a voice so raspy it sounded like he'd swallowed a file. "He's… he got bitten by this snake…"

Pomfrey turned to James' Dad, fingers flying to undo the knot of the cloak.

"What snake?"

"A pit… pit viper. I think."

Remus didn't know much about snakes, but Pomfrey's reaction was enough. She was suddenly rushed, her lips a thin line. He was at the door now, ready to hurry out and slam it behind himself.

"In his pocket," gritted out Sirius. He hadn't moved, or even raised his head, but Remus could see him shaking on and off. "Dunno if it'll help… it's the… the thingy that goes in the." Sirius didn't seem to know what "it" was. He didn't seem to want to try to think of a name for it either. "In his pocket. Dunno if it'll help," he repeated. He was heaving for air just like James had, earlier, but James wasn't struggling to breathe or shaking was anymore. He was staring in undisguised trepidation.

"In his pocket. Dunno if it'll help," Sirius muttered again.

"I heard you the first time."

"In his pocket." Pomfrey gave Sirius a sharp look, but she had found the thing, and frankly Remus didn't have a word to describe it either; it was a fist-sized bit of flesh, dripping black blood. "Dunno if it'll help."

"It'll help, Mr. Black," Pomfrey said briskly, as James' Mum made two beds march themselves into the room, and the nurse levitated James' Dad onto one, leaving the silvery cloak on the floor. Peter moved to pick it up, as the nurse added, "Betty, you start on him. Whatever happens, don't let him fall asleep. Not for _anything_." She turned to Pete and Remus, ordering them to get some potions and bandages and gowns and whatnot — Remus nodded, committing everything to memory, focusing on that and not on the blood flowing freely on the floor.

James' Mum moved to help Sirius. He was half out of it, shivering on and off, jerking without coordination.

" _Mum_?" James rolled a torrent of questions into one single word.

"Give me one moment, sweetheart. Honey?" She asked Sirius, giving his shoulder a tiny squeeze. He winced, but stared at her oddly. Like he couldn't make her out. "Can you hear me?"

"Yuh..."

"Tell me where it hurts most."

Sirius let out a pained, amused laugh. It became a groan right after.

.

* * *

.

Narcissa vowed never again to work on anything with the Prince half-blood. They were creeping to the Hospital Wing, trying to remain unseen, and sure she understood that one got nervous when breaking the rules and carrying proof of their allegiance to the Dark Lord, but when he got nervous he sweated.

She was sure the smell would give them away before they'd even reached the bloody Hospital Wing.

"Follow me," she muttered, allowing her nose to crimp in that grimace she'd been fighting all night as she sped up and took the lead in a hallway.

Much better. With him behind her, the smell wasn't as strong. Honestly, would it kill him to use soap and water every now and again?

She eased the door of the Hospital Wing open, peeking inside. It was mostly darkened and a handful of beds were occupied, to judge by the drawn curtains, but she could see the shadows of figures moving about in one of the contagion rooms, and the babble of voices reached her ears.

"Move it, Snape," she hissed, slipping inside and paying close attention to her surroundings and moving ahead warily; behind her, Severus followed, grinning from ear to ear.

Narcissa's grimace deepened, mind racing to make up some excuse for her being here at this hour. Gah, they should have planned ahead!

She sighed, frustrated. She wasn't cut out for this take-action kind of stuff, she was a Black!

The nurse's voice carried to their ears, announcing that she'd get some painkillers and a muscle relaxant, and to put someone in a bed.

Cursing under her breath — delicately of course, because she was a Black — Narcissa stepped behind the nearest set of curtains, Snivellus — yes, Slytherins called him that behind his back too — in tow.

She peeked out and watched the nurse bustle past, on the way to her storeroom, then took the chance to hurry all the way to the contagion room, stopping behind the last bed before the door, listening hard. Severus drew the curtains quietly, but she doubted anyone would have noticed with the noise the group that was with Potter were making. There seemed to be a regular party in there.

"Hold him still, Remus," a female voice said, and there were groans and thrashing sounds, followed by a low, raspy voice that was nearly unintelligible.

"Hush, darling, you'll feel better in one second."

Narcissa rolled her eyes. Potter was getting babied, by all looks of it. At this rate they'd never be able to place the Portkey on time!

"There's too many," Snape hissed. "What do we do now?"

"What did you do to him?" She hissed back. "He's supposed to be asleep, not—" she gestured at the goings-on in the room furiously. "Having a fit or whatever!"

"You said to injure him, and I did. If you had better aim, we wouldn't be here right now!"

She gave him a petulant look.

"That," she hissed, "was _your_ _fault_."

"Yeah because you just had to—" Snape cut himself off, as did Narcissa.

They had both heard it. They just couldn't believe it yet.

"Did you _hear_ that?"

"Shut up and let me listen!" she snapped, wide-eyed.

Someone had said, " _Sirius_."

But her sister had just told her in her letter, that they were _sure_ he was with the Potters!

The disconnected noises continued, and there was much clattering and moving around, and then they both heard her cousin's voice speak in a clear rasp:

"Get all the stuff off of him, if there's a Portkey it could be anything—"

"Mate, we've been here all the time."

"Awake?" Sirius asked

"What? _Yeah_."

"Sort of," said another voice.

"Mostly."

"What if it's a bandage or something?"

"Sirius," Slytherin on a drawstring, it _was_ him! "Nobody has been here all night, except for us and Madam Pomfrey—"

"And you're willing to bet _his_ life on it." Sirius' raspy tone was final, and there was much muttering and shuffling about. A strangled sort of moan could be heard after.

"No, of course not."

"I'll call Dumbledore. He can detect if anything is a Port—" the nurse started, but she was interrupted.

"It could go before he arrives."

"I can't believe that good-for-nothing piece of scum is alive!" Snape muttered nastily.

Narcissa's mood dropped another notch. She was angry at discovering that her cousin was alive — not well, but alive — and right under their noses. She'd never liked him, considered him a waste of blood and talent, an embarrassment and an inconvenience.

But that was her _right_. He was _her_ cousin. _She_ got to call him scum. Others had to _earn_ that right. Hearing that half-blood talking about him like _he_ was superior rubbed her wrong. Which was odd, because she hadn't minded any of the other stuff he'd been saying about Sirius these past weeks.

"Why?" She asked acidly. "He might be a disgrace, but _he's_ a Black," she added, "not some half-blood whose bloodline got thrown into the gutter." Snape glared at her, incensed, so she went on, taking her frustration out on the younger boy and syphoning it into the most arrogant tone she could manage. "Us Blacks are resourceful and notoriously hard to kill. We _are_ superior and second to none, even my wayward cousin. Everyone knows that. Even the Dark Lord."

"You _knew_ he was alive?"

"Of course," she lied. They hadn't _known_. They'd just speculated. A lot. "I just didn't know he was _here_. And how did he find out about the Portkey?"

"I don't care. I'm going to bed," he snapped, loud enough to be heard.

"Keep it down, you idiot!"

"You keep it down, Black! If you're so _superior_ , you don't need unworthy little me to finish the job."

He ripped the box open, tossing the Portkey at her. She caught it out of instinct, but managed to react and tossed it back just as fast.

Neither noticed that the voices in the room had stopped.

"Who's there?" Lupin stuck his head out, scanning the now silent Wing.

Snape, that worthless piece of dirt, took advantage of Narcissa's sudden fright to stick the Portkey in her pocket.

The last thing she saw before she was sent flying, was his crooked, yellow, self-satisfied grin.

.

* * *

.

Dawn had broken as Albus Dumbledore returned to the Hospital Wing of his beloved school, after an intense discussion with Alastor Moody, who had been tasked with the rescue efforts in Godric's Hall.

He was amazed of the night's outcome, all the more because he would never have believed that what turned out to be a very narrow shave, could ever have resulted like it had. Somehow, a tragedy, of the sort that had become only too commonplace of late, had narrowly been prevented. Voldemort was targeting families now, and this was the first setback he had suffered in entirely too long.

The news Alastor had brought him just earlier made it all the harder to believe: the village of Godric's Hollow would be in flames by now, had the Dark Side not been stopped in time.

In the Wing itself, he could see a few students still slumbering in their beds, their half drawn curtains indicating that the school nurse was still tirelessly looking after her charges.

Of those he wished to see now, there was no sign.

Albus strode to the far end of the wing, where a series of doors suggested a handful of small rooms. The second door to the left however, opened to a space that had been magically enlarged to provide both the necessary seclusion and peace needed by them to heal.

Euphemia Beatrice Potter was asleep on a sofa, warmly wrapped in a blanket. It was relieving to see, she had had a particularly hard time out of this ordeal; her entire family was lying in hospital beds.

Or not quite; Coop was sitting on James' bedside, caressing his sleeping son's head, deep in thought.

That antidote to the viper venom had worked better than expected, the Headmaster noted, feeling relief wash over him. His old friend looked much restored, if still rather sickly and tired.

He stepped quietly towards Coop, careful not to wake Messrs. Lupin and Pettigrew, who had exhausted themselves helping them with their patients and were snoozing on the floor. Peter had helped Horace brew potions and antidotes yet again, and Remus had kept a nearly raving Sirius in check and turned the whole place upside down looking for a Portkey that Voldemort had allegedly sent to kidnap James. It was the only thing they'd managed to get out of Sirius, before he finally passed out.

They hadn't as yet found it, but Albus had his suspicions regarding the minor altercation that had occurred with Mr. Snape around four in the morning. He'd look into it.

Still, James _hadn't_ vanished before their eyes; it had been difficult to calm him down enough to attempt to sleep, but once he closed his eyes, he hadn't woken again.

"I am surprised to find you out of bed," Albus commented softly, regarding his friend. Coop looked up, a smile on his face.

"As am I. I honestly believed that it was over, for all of us."

"Well, it's not."

Coop kissed James' forehead, then moved on to the bed next to his son's, where Sirius was asleep too, but his slumber wasn't as restful as James'. Albus' eyes swept over every bandage, dressing, even plaster on him. He looked much like he had at the end of December.

"I didn't listen," Coop said in a low drone, now sitting down on Sirius' bedside and cupping the lad's face in his hand. "Shh, there now, it's okay, my boy." Albus knew that he was asleep, but still Sirius seemed to listen. His expression became more relaxed at once, and Coop resumed his story.

"I _didn't_ listen when he said James was hurt," he told the Headmaster, a deep sort of regret in his voice. "I thought he was seeing things. After, he wanted to stay here, and yet I _made_ him go home. And I didn't _listen_ when he insisted that something was amiss the second we returned. Merlin, I went and gave him a Sleeping Potion, when I should have gotten him out of there as soon as he told me."

"How could you have known?" Albus asked bracingly. "Coop, how could _he_?"

"He shares a bond with James, Albus. A special, deep bond. He has a nose for Dark Magic, as well." The old wizard closed his eyes for a moment, opened them again when Sirius jerked his head to the side; it was an aftereffect of the Cruciatus, Albus knew, and there was nothing to treat it until it faded on its own, except sleeping it off. Yet despite the Dreamless Sleep potion, the victims of the curse often cramped up, even seized. The potion was only the kindest way to help them through the consequences the curse had on their bodies. Coop made some soothing sounds, still caressing Sirius' fringe. "I didn't listen, even after he warned us about James. I thought it was his fears seeking an outlet."

"But you came out of it on top," Albus reminded him. "It was a close call, Coop, but —"

"I didn't come out of _anything_ ," was the rejoinder. "It was all this brave, stupid boy here."

"What I heard—"

"You wouldn't have believed it if you had seen it," Coop said. "I half couldn't either. But I saw him _change_ , Albus. He was so terrified when we were trying to leave and _Voldemort_ waltzed into _my_ house," which Coop wouldn't forgive, ever. "Albus, he could hardly move. And then when I woke up, we were outside, and I swear to you, it was like seeing a different person."

Albus frowned.

"Alastor said that nearly sixty Death Eaters were trapped in the grounds outside the Hall. Are you telling me it was _him_ , not _you_?" He had thought the story incredible before, when he thought Coop had done it. Incredible, but feasible; Coop was an excellent duellist. But Sirius Black was only a kid, if a very talented one, and Albus had seen him earlier. He had barely been on his feet.

"Even Voldemort was trapped," Coop confirmed. "I had _nothing_ to do with it." As he told Albus what he had witnessed, he painted a picture that was quite different from what Alastor had suspected. His eyebrows rose in amazement, but Coop seemed saddened by the tale.

"They were going to kill him. He knew it, there was no way he couldn't have known. And still he strolled out, right into the centre of the field, and let them do — _this_." Coop sighed.

"He saved you," Albus pointed out. Coop let out a tired, defeated sort of chuckle.

"Yes, he did."

"I just spoke to Alastor," Albus added, which snapped his friend's attention to him. "And it went rather beyond that. They had to take down the wards on the grounds, so most of the Death Eaters-"

"And Voldemort-"

"- _And_ Voldemort," Albus agreed, "disapparated the moment they had a chance, but he snatched a handful."

A handful was more than the Aurors had caught in months.

"He told me that after he interrogated them, the Death Eaters admitted that Voldemort's plan was only to _start_ at Godric's Hall. He had such a force assembled there to destroy the Hollow. The plan was to butcher the entire village and burn everything to the ground. He would have succeeded, too."

Coop was at a loss for words.

"And someone saw Sirius."

"What?" Coop asked, aghast. " _Who_?"

"Pellinore Owens. He was the first to arrive, with the Hollow Watch—"

"For the _love of Merlin_. Can't anything work out for _once_? Owens is a terrible gossip."

"But he might as yet prove incredibly helpful— he witnessed when Voldemort gave a speech where he denounced Sirius' defiance of his cause, he saw the whole thing."

"How does that help us?"

"Alastor said he may testify in Sirius' favour."

"That would be a windfall."

"But the MLE will question you. They could charge you with harbouring a fugitive."

Coop simply shrugged.

"That I can handle. _Them_ getting their hands on him… I shall not allow it."

"What do you think?"

"As soon as the boys are well enough to travel, we're thinking Blackpool. Betty sent the elves ahead, and I hope Angus will help us get the house ready."

"And the MLE? Crouch will not allow you to slip through his fingers," Albus reminded him. "The Order—"

"What's the Order going to do?" Coop asked impatiently. "It's been over a month, and we are worse off than before. We haven't gotten a single chance to beat the Dark Side at its own game in nearly a year. He's singling us out, Albus, all of us. Going after our families… and frankly, I find it hard to blame those who side with the bastard to spare their children from this."

"You're surely not thinking—"

"Sweet Circe, no," Coop's eyes were flashing. "We will _never_ join him. But you can't tell me that our Order is our hope. _Look at us_. We are breaking at the seams, drawn out of our own home… Now both of them are barely alive, it cannot go on like this."

"We can stay Crouch's hand. Janus Dearborn can help sway him. We just need to decide what you will tell him, together."

Coop watched Sirius for a long moment, cogs clearly turning in his head. In the end he heaved a sigh.

"I _loathe_ politics."

"So do I," Albus agreed with a mild smile. "That's why I became a schoolteacher."

.

* * *

.

They had barely made it out, and none of them — himself included — were wholly in one piece. That boy had made him _bleed_ his own blood.

It made Voldemort all the angrier. That brat Black had proven himself to be such a pain to the posterior, that a part of the Dark Lord would like nothing better than channel his every last effort to his capture and very painful demise.

Not that he would— it wasn't fashionable for him to syphon his entire power from the war and into killing him. It would make him seem petty. He'd dedicate only… half his force to the effort, maybe less.

Another part of him couldn't but appreciate the sheer capacity the boy had to elude him. And he couldn't help hating him for it. He could have propelled Sirius to greatness, yet the boy insisted on wasting his considerable talents on the other side. On the _Potters_ ' side.

Ridiculous.

Voldemort limped to his favourite sofa, his moribund snake in his arms. He laid her carefully on a cushion next to him, brought over by one of the Carrows. The one who was still standing.

Voldemort paid Amycus no mind, just as he paid no heed to his own broken ribs, focusing on his next conundrum.

Nagini, his horcrux. She was so important to him, to his immortality, and she was _dying_. The boy — who else could have done this? — was responsible for this too. Potter was, so Nagini told him, as good as dead. She had bitten him, but then the boy had conjured a Grim to kill her out of thin air. Voldemort seethed in silence, staring darkly ahead.

Five of his Death Eaters had been taken, the other forty-nine were injured and in dire need of rest. But that was not the worst.

The _worst_ was that he had planned a work of genius, the mother of all raids, a strategic blow that was designed to subdue the greater part of the Wizarding population to his will. Godric's Hollow would have died as one. _Should_ have died as one.

It had been a brilliant plan, and it had been foiled.

_He_ , the Dark Lord, the most feared wizard in the world, had been _ridiculed_.

By a _schoolboy_!

Sirius Black had just replaced many older, more capable witches and wizards on his kill list. He had just been bumped up to #1. Voldemort never forgot a slight, and this was something he would make the damned boy pay for in full. All the torment he had planned on visiting upon each of the Hollow's inhabitants, was now Black's destiny.

"My lord?"

Bellatrix. Usually bubbling with energy, she was now subdued. This could maybe have something to do with the angry bruises covering the side of her head. She had been near the jaws of the earth monster and had gotten chewed on rather badly. It served her right for having such a difficult cousin.

"What _is it_ , Bella?"

"I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am for recent events… I know how much Nagini means to you."

"Well thank you, dear Bella. I believe she can be saved yet." Voldemort raised his eyebrows. "However, she will never be the same."

"I know, Master. Which is why… I have brought you Lenora. If she can save your Nagini, it would be an honour for all us Blacks to make you a gift of her. We beg your forgiveness for the hardships caused by the Outcast."

The Outcast. That's what they were calling him now? Gods, but they were so dramatic. It sounded so much milder than 'insufferable child'. Like he was important, somehow.

Bellatrix produced a cage next, wherein slithered the largest black python he had ever seen. Lenora had been in the Black family for centuries. And, it appeared that the beast was as arrogant as its former owners. It wouldn't so much as deign to say hello.

Voldemort's eyebrows rose in appreciation.

"All is forgiven," he said hungrily, drawing his wand. The snake of the Blacks recoiled in sudden alarm. "Bring her to me. I shall revive Nagini shortly. Leave me, all of you."

He thought that he saw Bellatrix wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, as she ushered the bone-weary Death Eaters to the far end of the hall, where they could wait until the Dark Lord was ready to pay attention to them. He would deal with them later.

"Lenora, Lenora… you are truly magnificent," Voldemort said. "Believe me when I say that your death shall not be in vain."

He reached one hand into the cage and extended the other toward Nagini. He muttered a spell— and a moment later, he held the still beating heart of one snake in each hand.

The next moment, Nagini's heart was inside the Python. The pit viper next to him crumpled, gushing black blood everywhere while he cast the second spell, closing the wound. Nagini slumped back inside the cage. She had a new body, and he had one utterly rare delicacy. Comfort food, as it were.

"Goodbye, Lenora. I am sure you shall be delicious." He bit into the flesh with relish.

He found that he was not wrong.

Even his mood was restored.

He had hardly finished noshing on the snake's heart, however, when the _Daily Prophet_ arrived, causing a commotion among his Death Eaters.

Voldemort sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Give it here," he said, beckoning with his fingers. Already he was thinking on worse punishments to bestow on Orion's damned kid. He wished he had never set eyes on the insufferable child.

The paper made it into his hands. He scanned the front page, long fingers clenching into fists and crumpling it the next instant.

" _I'M GOING TO SKIN HIM ALIVE_!" He roared, beyond furious.

Forty-nine Death Eaters flinched, clearly considering making a break for it.

He threw the paper onto the floor, where the headline read:

BARK MARK SPOTTED IN GODRIC'S HOLLOW — FIVE DEATH EATERS CAPTURED IN AN UNPRECEDENTED VICTORY OF THE LIGHT.

Below, a moving picture showed Godric's Hall, the monstrous maw that had incapacitated them all… and floating on top, clearly visible in the morning light, a black dog's head had replaced the Dark Mark, pink tongue lolling out as it bared its fangs playfully and yipped soundlessly at the world.

.

* * *

TBC. R&R, because R's are good for the body, R's are good for the mind, R's are good for the writer chicks, so leave one and don't be unkind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: I've dubbed it the acronyms chapter. Coop gets in trouble with the law over his MO of going AAA, Voldemort is like AYKM, his Inner Circle need some RR, the boys get some TLC, James is BAH, Remus and Peter catch some Z's, Snape gets an ASBO, and we find out what happened to Narcissa (who went AWOL, if you recall).


	15. Blackpool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Some news. Some care for the boys, and a welcome break for the Potters (and additions), which of course doesn't last. Coop's in trouble with the law. Angus tries his hand at interior design. Dumbledore gets suspicious, Voldemort is still sulking, Narcissa tattles, and Snape goes on a roadtrip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm running out of ways to say HP and the HP verse do not belong to me.

.

* * *

**Part Fifteen: Blackpool**

* * *

.

_"BARK MARK" SPOTTED IN GODRIC'S HOLLOW — FIVE DEATH EATERS CAPTURED IN AN UNPRECEDENTED VICTORY OF THE LIGHT._

Sirius would _so_ have a laugh at this.

James watched the moving picture, and only part of him mourned for his lost Quidditch pitch; he agreed with — a still sleeping — Sirius, that it had been entirely worth it. And that monstrosity of a muzzle chewing on the Death Eaters _was_ a wicked bit of magic. James had never even tried transfiguring something so large… and he wondered just what had inspired Sirius to make such a thing.

The Padfoot head frolicking over the house was also splendid, and it made James wonder why nobody had thought of changing the Dark Side's beacon into something else before. It was made all the funnier because he knew what a blow it would mean for the Dark Side; they were so sensitive to mockery, and if they knew just what the dog's head entailed, exactly, they'd be out of their wits with rage.

Not that he imagined them being any less so, just now.

James read on, keeping an ear out for any noise that would announce some entertainment.

_Early this morning, a call for aid summoned Aurors and officers of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to the village of Godric's Hollow, which has borne witness to three open battles since the famed Battle of Boxing Day late last year. This call came as no surprise given the latest attacks on wizarding homesteads and families, and it too, targeted one family who have long been considered a fixture of the Welsh village and are long-time supporters of the Light._

_However, instead of finding the Potters dead and their home destroyed, the Aurors and members of the Hollow Watch discovered something quite different upon arrival: the Bark Mark, as it has lovingly been dubbed by the villagers, was shining in the sky (see picture), and a host of Death Eaters appeared to be trapped inside the field behind the historic manor, in what has been called a never before seen turn of events._

_Of the Potters, there was no sign, although there are strong indications of a struggle both in and around the house._

_The Auror in charge of responding to the summons, Alastor Moody, confirmed that a large force of Death Eaters had gathered in Godric's Hall, aiming to kill Fleamont (116) and Euphemia (115) Potter, and then launching an attack on the rest of the village, but they were stopped by what the Aurors only described as an "impressive bit of magic."_

_"I don't know how they [the Potters] did it," the head of the Aurors stated in an exclusive interview on site. "Fleamont is an excellent duellist, but this surpasses anything we've seen before. We knew to expect something out of the ordinary when we saw the Dark Mark being replaced in the sky. But we also had great trouble getting past the wards of the house and grounds, which were intact. And once we took the anti-apparition block down, most of the Death Eaters took the chance to escape, but we still managed to grab hold of five of them."_

_The names of these five followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will be disclosed shortly. They are presently being held in the Ministry of Magic, pending their transfer to Azkaban prison, where they will await trial._

_It is as yet unknown whether the Potters survived the ordeal, but there is no doubt that every one of the inhabitants of the Hollow owes them greatly._

_An ongoing search is being held for them, as well as for Sirius Black, 16, who was thought to have been killed near Godric's Hollow last December during the Battle of Boxing Day, and who has sparked a great controversy regarding his affiliations and actions since. The former Hogwarts student, who is currently sought by the Ministry for murder, was spotted by a member of the Hollow Watch, and according to him, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his Death Eaters were surrounding him to execute him (for full story, see below). This would speak against the accusations that have flown for weeks, claiming that Black had joined the Dark Lord's inner circle, as so many of his family members have done, and speak for those who claim that he, as so many others, was, or is, being hunted by the Dark Lord._

_As yet, neither Black nor the Potters have been found, dead or otherwise, and the search is expected to continue until they are found. What is certain, however, is that the "Bark Mark" has instantly become a beacon of hope and light, directly opposing the dreaded Dark Mark._

_If you have any information regarding the whereabouts of Fleamont and Euphemia Potter or Sirius Black, please contact Alastor Moody at the DMLE over the Floo._

James lowered the paper, rubbing his eyes. He had woken up a while earlier, to a throbbing midriff and silent surroundings. His Mum was asleep on a sofa, and the bed he remembered his Dad being put in was empty, unmade. Otherwise, he was alone.

There was no sign of Sirius, or Remus and Peter, and all his ears caught were the soft sounds of his Mum's breathing and the racket of birds outside. His probing senses only told him that Sirius was nearby, deeply asleep. It was much like it had felt to reach out to him at first, before the New Year.

There wasn't anything else he could do, except wait for someone to come over. Hopefully with water; he felt parched, and achy, and _gods of Quidditch_ , he was also bored out of his mind.

Since he didn't want to wake his Mum up despite all that, he turned to the paper once more, where there was another article on the front page.

_SIRIUS BLACK SIGHTED IN GODRIC'S HOLLOW_.

He had been avoiding looking at it, but since he wasn't in the mood for sleep and had nothing else to entertain himself with, he braved reading the thing, already wondering how to get Sirius out of this fix.

Below the title, they had plastered a rather cheesy picture of Sirius, which James recognised was a cutout from the one he'd given to the papers over a month ago. That had been when they won the Quidditch Cup last year; they'd celebrated their victory for days, and would they ever get to do such a thing again?

_A member of the Hollow Watch, who was the first to arrive at the Potters' ancestral home in the early hours of the morning, and who has asked this reporter to remain anonymous, spotted Sirius Black alive, on the grounds outside the old manor._

_This witness claims that Black was in what has been called the "killing circle", surrounded by over fifty Death Eaters and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself._

_"I was doing my rounds when I saw the Dark Mark," the eyewitness told this reporter. "I thought the worst of it, so after sounding the alarm, I went over to see if I could help, but I couldn't get past the wards, so I tried the back garden. There were a lot [of Death Eaters] there, surrounding Sirius Black and chanting to kill him, like. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had him by the throat and was saying something like, "Behold what happens to those who defy me and the Pureblood Cause," and how he would make an example of him for others who denied him and thought they could live," the witness said. "But then there was the beam of a spell coming from the edge of the woods and Black hit the ground, and then I think he cast a spell and disappeared into the earth, right under their noses. And a moment later, this big mouth just opened in the ground and ate them all."_

_It is as yet unknown whether Black is alive at the moment, or if he died during or after this attack. According to the eyewitness, he seemed to be badly injured._

_This may shed new light on the ongoing inquiry investigating his involvement in the battle of Penarth and could potentially revert his accusation for the murder of one Muggle girl there, and the Battle of Boxing Day in Godric's Hollow, where he was seen by several eyewitnesses as having been killed by a blasting curse whilst trying to escape the Death Eaters on a broomstick._

_Added to the controversy surrounding his death, there has been much debate regarding his allegiance, with evidence suggesting that he_ _either_ _supports He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or the Side of Light, as evidenced by eyewitness accounts of both the Battle of Boxing Day and this most recent sighting._

_If you have any information regarding his whereabouts, contact Alastor Moody in the DMLE over the Floo_.

Well, wasn't that just _great_?

Part of him decided that reading that rubbish had been a bad idea. Now all he _could_ do, was worry himself to pieces all over. The Ministry was looking for Sirius again, and once they found out his Dad was here, they'd comb the castle looking for his best friend.

James groaned, letting the paper fall down on his bedspread.

"The news aren't to your liking?" A familiar voice startled him from his reverie. Instantly, James' face split into a grin.

"Dad!"

"Good morning, son." His Dad perched on the side of his bed, smiling.

"What happened? Are you okay?"

"Yes, just a little tired," Coop said, running his fingers through James' hair and getting them all tangled. "Poppy said to give you these… Not sure if they'll be to your liking either." He held up two vials. "So I brought you some chocolate, to wash the taste away."

"And you'll tell me what happened," James supplied. "All of it, and every detail."

"Of course."

Okay, the potions tasted _awful_.

The chocolate was good, but it helped only after the first few bites. However, his Dad was forthcoming with more than just snacks and news about Sirius, who was right where he'd been last James remembered; Dumbledore had only charmed a wall to fool people into thinking James was the only patient in the room. One snap of his Dad's fingers, and the wall melted away, revealing an extra bed and its occupant.

James could see his friend quite easily now, not two feet away and completely out of it. There was thick bandaging around his head and all over the rest of him, and he seemed dwarfed by the bed itself, never mind all the stuff on him. James bit his lip with worry. He looked as bad as he had when he first came to Godric's Hall; maybe worse, because the new injuries were layered on top of the other ones, which had only half healed.

"Poppy says he'll probably not wake up today, but he'll be all right," Coop told James as he brought him some tea, which he recognised as the stuff they'd been giving Sirius for ages to keep him calm and sleeping.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, now drink up."

It was good stuff, it mellowed him down and put him more in the mood for a story rather than fretting.

One thing might be said for his father: He didn't disappoint.

.

* * *

.

"Sit down, Mr. Snape." The Headmaster's expression was grave as he gestured for his student to a chair. "Tea?" The boy before him shook his head. Albus poured him a cup regardless, then steepled his fingers under his long nose, regarding him impassively.

"Do you know why you are here?" He asked at length. Snape shrugged one shoulder. "Tell me, Mr. Snape, what were you doing in the Hospital Wing in the middle of the night?"

"I wasn't feeling very well."

"You need to learn how to lie better." Dumbledore's eyes bored into the young wizard's, and he was convinced that something very wrong was going on here.

"I'm not lying," Snape lied again.

"Then why were you sneaking into the Wing? Why did you leave right after you were seen by Mr. Lupin?" Albus didn't wait for an answer, voicing his suspicions instead. "Did you have anything to do with the assault on Mr. Potter?"

"No, sir."

Another bold-faced lie.

"Is that so?" Albus was not convinced, and he allowed his student to see it.

Snape shrugged, but his face was a dead giveaway. There was no guilt there, but one poke into his mind and Albus could hear it all but screaming that he'd done the deed.

"Yes, that's so." He was trying for — and dismally failing at — the trademark Slytherin arrogance, and while Albus couldn't see any signs of regret on his face, worry for as yet unknown consequences was harder to hide, and as a Legilimens, he had no trouble reading him as he would a children's book.

"We will have to wait then, until Mr. Potter awakens. He may have seen who assaulted him. The consequences for such person will be severe indeed."

"You can't prove a thing." He was bold, Albus had to give him that.

"Over the past few days, you haven't been exactly hiding the fact you have been provoking him," Albus countered. "You slipped a very dangerous potion into his food; thankfully that was averted by one of the prefects."

"He gave me _tentacles_! He's done nothing but ridicule me day after day!" Now _that_ outrage was genuine. "Whatever he gets out of it is well deserved, if you ask me!"

"But I am not asking you whether or not it is deserved. I am asking you if you had anything to do with it," Dumbledore countered. "Mr. Potter has never denied giving you tentacles, which, as I remember, were in retaliation of you insulting one of our Muggleborn students without reason."

Snape was seething, but he was silent. His mind, though, was another matter. Albus had never before seen such hatred in someone this young... except for one student he had once taught. He had evolved into the Dark Lord, and he wondered, could Severus Snape get to that point?

"You seem to be escalating the matter beyond anything I have ever seen before, Mr. Snape," he said at length. "The two of you have upheld this utterly childish feud for entirely too long, and while I do not condone Potter's behaviour towards you, neither do I condone _yours_. You will serve one month of detentions, Monday through Saturday, starting today. Argus will doubtlessly appreciate the help getting the rust off the armours. Report to him ten minutes after your afternoon classes every day. You may go."

"And your precious Potter goes free, does he not?" Snape muttered mulishly. His dark eyes were flashing with anger, all the more so because he hadn't been given detention with his Head of House, as was customary. Albus had paired him up with the Squib of the school, adding insult to injury, as it were.

"Mr. Potter has been given his punishment, and he has served every last one of his detentions." With more grace, too, but Albus bit his tongue on that last. "You ought to stop concerning yourself with what _he_ does or does not do; you need to focus on _yourself_ , and the path you are choosing to walk in your life. It seems to me that you believe there will be a solution for you where none can be found, and you are depriving yourself from more fulfilling endeavours that could make your life a success. You may go, Mr. Snape, but bear in mind that this is not over."

It wouldn't be over for a long time, and Albus felt troubled as he watched his student's retreating back. Snape was right; there was no hard evidence that he had attacked Potter. However, there was little doubt in the Headmaster's mind that Sirius' and Remus' claims were true. Snape needed to be observed closely, because Albus had no doubt at all, that he would have been happy to see James die… and he might yet attempt to achieve it.

"Kids these days," the Sorting Hat commented from its shelf. "Mind you, old Salazar would have been proud of that one."

"That's what worries me," Albus muttered into his beard.

.

* * *

.

The dismal start to James' day was only that; the start. Ever since he'd seen his Dad and his fears over the impending Ministry search for Sirius were quenched — because his Dad was _on it_ yet again — things had only looked up. His Mum woke up around mid-morning, and her relieved smile when she saw James was awake and — so Poops said — on the mend, made James' day.

It made it hard to worry about the Ministry coming to lock Sirius up, but somehow, James still managed.

Especially because they _did_ come to Hogwarts right before lunchtime.

Only, it wasn't Sirius they were looking for. Not at first.

James happened to be just waking up when they did — he seemed to have inherited Sirius' penchant for falling asleep at random and even mid-sentence, because he did that a few times too — and the first thing he saw was the hideously scarred face of none other than _Alastor Moody_ , the greatest Auror to ever live and hero of every adventurous child in the magical world, poking his frizz of hair in the door. He wore a leather patch over one eye, and James could see bruises below his collar.

"Why hello, Potter," he said, stepping inside the room and sounding like a bear with laryngitis. "It appears you've caused quite the uproar."

"Hello, old friend," James' Dad said genially. "I wasn't expecting you to come over so soon."

"Me either, but the eggheads want me to keep a close eye on you, despite the fact I told them that you're a senile old coot, so I'm stuck watching your sorry arse." He was imposing as anything; maybe that was why his Mum didn't chide him for foul language. Neither did his Dad; he laughed at what he was hearing.

Or maybe, his Mum was as apprehensive as James was over the news Moody had come to deliver.

"They're waiting in Albus' office."

"Dad?" James hadn't meant for his voice to come out like he was six years old, but he hadn't expected an Auror to take his father away either. Even if it was _Moody_.

"Chill out, kid," Moody winked at him. Or blinked - with the eyepatch, James couldn't tell. "I'll only make sure that he doesn't trip over his feet on the way to the Head Office."

"Who's there?" James' Dad wanted to know.

"Bagnold." Moody rolled his one eye. "Crouch. As of now, they're more grateful to you than anything."

"But that may change."

"That may change," the Auror concurred. "They want to know where the Black kid is."

James' blood froze. Did Moody know that Sirius was two feet away, hidden away behind a fake wall? The grizzled Auror kept glancing over at it, squinting, like. It put James on edge.

"I'd like to know as well," his Dad said placidly, righting his dressing gown and putting on some slippers. Moody chuckled raspily, as if he didn't quite believe it.

"You'll have to be more convincing than that," he said, confirming James' suspicions. "Off the record, _is_ he here?"

"Yes. Right behind me."

"Dad, _no_ —" What was he _doing_?

"Take it easy, James," Coop said, smiling reassuringly at his son. "Alastor has known about Sirius for weeks. He's our main man in the DMLE."

" _What_?" And now he was back to feeling like he'd just drooled down his front.

"You didn't think we've successfully kept him hidden all this time by ourselves?" his Mum asked gently.

"Well..." James said, confused. "Yeah."

"It takes a village, kid," the Auror said, looking quite satisfied with himself and then giving his father an enquiring look. Coop smiled, then gave the Auror a clear, if nonverbal, go-ahead. "Or rather, an entire _Order_."

"You—" James was gobsmacked, trying to process the new information. "You mean that's _real_? The Order of the—"

"Phoenix? Why wouldn't it be?" Moody actually _grinned_ at him. It was like something out of a nightmare, but James was busy trying to make sense of what he was hearing. Did that mean that all the urban legends were true as well? "Your parents helped found it a couple of years ago."

" _You_ …?" James couldn't believe his ears. His parents nodded their confirmation, smiling.

"And we're all working to keep the likes of your friend safe. Not that it's worked out so far," Moody pointed out sourly. "Last night took us completely by surprise. We had information that he was going to attack the Davieses over in the East End."

"We didn't expect our James to be attacked either," Betty said. "Not here of all places."

"Do you know who did the deed?" Moody asked, eyeing James closely now. James gulped, and his parents shook their heads. "Do you remember anything?"

"No, sir. One moment I was walking down the hallway, the next I woke up here."

"We do have our suspicions. However, so far we have no proof," his Dad added to James' last. "It was Sirius who alerted us, right when it happened. He believes it was a student, but he couldn't be certain either."

"I'll have a talk with him, then," Moody decided. "Is he awake? I want to see him before we go convince the top brass he isn't anywhere near this castle."

"He hasn't stirred since we arrived, pretty much." A snap of his Dad's fingers made the wall shimmer and vanish, and both wizards stepped up to the bed that had become visible.

Moody's one eye glinted as it roved over Sirius' sleeping form, with anger or amusement, James couldn't tell.

"You'll have to take credit for what happened," he told Coop. He didn't sound amused.

"I'm not even sure what spell he used, Alastor."

"I doubt even Minerva can tell what it was, and really, who _cares_? Make one up. The only thing that will distract Crouch from this kid right now, is an instant hero he can use as a poster-boy for the Ministry's campaign against the Dark."

"Why not tell him the truth?"

"What are you, _dim_?" Moody shot back. "If he knows you were — _are_ — harbouring a fugitive who's wanted for murder and exposing Magic to Muggles, he'll let you _and_ him convalesce in bloody Azkaban until that is resolved. The wardens there have got a _terrible_ bedside manner."

"I could tell them Sirius arrived to warn us," Coop suggested. "That he beat the Dark Side to the drawl by minutes. It _is_ what happened, even if he was down the hall at the time."

"Do you think they'll believe that?"

"I'm thinking that when he's back among the living, they'll interrogate him, and you know Barty. He'll do it with Veritaserum. The less Sirius has to fight it, the better. And that would be close enough to the actual truth."

"Hm." Moody considered it for a moment. "It might work; he'd have one open victory against the Dark Side under his belt, two if we count Godric's Hollow in December. That _could_ mellow the Wizengamot up to him," the Auror said at length. "You'll have one less argument to help you out of this fix, but it could work in our favour later. Owens saw Voldemort and his goons attacking him, heard his little speech. He saw the whole thing, even when the Dark Mark changed. Since the kid vanished under Voldemort's very nose, it would make sense if he's out in the wind now, and you've got no clue where he ended up. But you'd be pushing it."

"If they don't like it, they can eat my slippers here," Coop said genially, making the Auror laugh.

"I'm not bailing you out, old man. If you mess this up, you're on your own."

"You can have my shorts for seconds."

"No thanks, I just hate the thought of _losing_ you on the way to Azkaban. I'd ruin my flawless delivery record."

"It would be for a good cause, though."

"Shouldn't you be doing wickerwork or carpentry to fill your days? You're way too old for this crap."

"I'll do that when the war is over. I'll make you a nice new pegleg, with claws and everything."

James stared at his Dad and Moody, awed and not a little worried. It was as though his parents had this entire secret life he had no idea about… he felt a little shocked — only a little, because he'd never have thought his parents to be friends with Alastor blippin' _Moody_ , the hero of heroes in the war — but mostly, he felt very proud of them both. They might be old, both of them, but they weren't frail, senile seniors.

His parents were _badass_.

He couldn't wait to tell Sirius what he'd just _missed_.

"Get some rest, kid," Moody ruffled James' hair as he and Coop were about to make their way out. "I'll bring your dear old dad back later. You get better soon, and if you happen to recall who attacked you, let me know. I'll get them sorted."

James swallowed, nodding.

"Yes, sir."

.

* * *

.

"Ah, _Fleamont_ ," Millicent Bagnold said with the smile that usually accompanied his name, whenever it was said aloud. It didn't reach the Minister for Magic's eyes, however.

Neither did the amusement, which so rarely failed to make everyone smile or laugh, seem to carry over to Bartemius, Coop noted, as he and the one-eyed Auror entered Albus' office.

"Hello, Millicent, Barty, I trust to find you well?" Coop replied nonetheless, gratefully accepting Albus' tea. Alastor leaned against the doorframe, examining his fingernails.

"Yes, fine, fine," was the offhand reply. "And there I was, thinking that you hadn't made it out of the Hollow alive."

"I was… extremely lucky," Coop replied honestly.

"How is Euphemia? Surely she is…"

"She wasn't at home; she stayed with James, right here. He was—"

"We heard about your boy. I hope he makes a swift recovery." Crouch's tone was curt. He had never been one for niceties.

"Thanks, I'll let him know."

"We are intrigued, Fleamont," Millicent said. "We are glad, of course, that you managed to fight off the Dark Side, but there were, what, fifty, sixty Death Eaters there?"

"And Voldemort," Coop supplied, exchanging a grimly amused glance with Albus as the two Ministry officials flinched and hissed.

"Please do not say the _name_ ," Millicent requested. Coop smiled thinly, aware that he was losing points with these two, and this meeting had hardly begun. "How did you escape He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named?"

"And what was Sirius Black doing there?" Barty added coolly. "We have a witness, Pellinore Owens. He saw the boy."

"I am certain that there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for that," Albus interjected.

"If there is, I'd like to hear it. It would not be good for anyone if you were found to _harbour a fugitive_ ," Crouch replied. "The boy is wanted for murder, after all."

"I do not believe that he—" Albus started, but Crouch cut him off.

"What you or I believe is irrelevant. When he is found, and he _shall_ be, he will stand accused of cold-blooded murder, of exposing magic to Muggles, of underage wizardry…"

"And whatever else you can pin on him, regardless if it's true at all," Alastor finished for him impatiently. "Trust me, we've all heard that litany before."

"He's _Orion's_ son. What makes you think the apple fell far from the tree?"

"Well this one did, Barty," Coop replied dryly. "Being testy about it won't change the truth. You ask me how I escaped Voldemort last night? It was Sirius who woke me up and helped me get out, mere minutes before they breached my wards and entered my house."

"So _You-Know-Who_ sent him to get you," Crouch gave Coop a sour look. It might be petty, but Coop was enjoying their discomfort at hearing the name. "Or were you harbouring him all this time?"

"I wasn't," Coop responded evenly. "And Voldemort—" the Minister for Magic and the head of Law Enforcement flinched again. "He was after Sirius too."

"Then _how_ —"

"We didn't exactly have time to catch up," Coop interrupted. "The lad has been through hell, and still he was the one who woke me up to get me out of the house before the Death Eaters arrived."

"But how did he reach your house at all?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. We saw him fly off on a broomstick on Boxing Day, after the battle, and we saw him get blasted off that broom, ask anyone in the village. I thought him dead then. I'll make sure not to make that mistake again."

"So you don't know where he is?"

"I saw the ground swallow him, as I'm sure your witness told you."

"And where were you at the time?"

Coop smiled a little.

"I was trying not to black out, in the bushes."

" _What_?"

"Look, say what you will about the lad, but I've got him to thank for being here at all. We were trying to escape out the back door while the Death Eaters came in through the front, but there was this snake. Voldemort's pet, I'm sure. A pit viper, it bit me," he showed them his bandaged arm, deciding that they could have his slippers for high tea, after all. "So I was unconscious and missed a part of the story. When I woke up he had hidden me in the bushes by the woods. He told me to come here, that he'd hold them off, and then he was almost killed trapping the lot of them inside those jaws."

" _All_ of them?" Bagnold asked, aghast.

"Even…?" Crouch's eyes were as wide as saucers, quite despite himself.

"Oh yes, even _him_." Coop took pity on them and refrained from saying the name this once.

"That's what Owens said too," Alastor's harsh rasp came from the doorway. "The kid cast a spell, made the ground swallow him, and then the Death Eaters."

"And then he changed the Dark Mark," Coop added, not bothering to hide his pride.

"You didn't do _any_ of it?" Bagnold's eyebrows were raised in astonishment.

"All I did was cast one Conjunctivitus Curse, so Voldemort would let him go," Coop admitted. "I wasn't in any condition to do much."

"So… he vanished under their noses, and then what?" Crouch looked dubious.

"He helped me outside the anti-apparition wards," Coop replied. "I was unconscious at the time, I hear that one of my elves brought me here."

"And the boy?" Crouch glared at him. Coop shook his head, allowing his deep worry to surface.

"Your guess is as good as mine, Barty."

"Why did you not wait for help?" The Minister asked curiously. Coop shrugged one shoulder.

"I didn't have much time left; it was urgent for me to receive appropriate care."

"Horace brewed him an antidote," Albus explained gently. Crouch's face became resentful.

"I still find it hard to believe," he muttered angrily. 

"Is such a stretch to do so?" Coop asked. "I've known this boy since he was six, there's not a speck of Darkness in him."

"A Black, openly going _against_ the Dark Side? _The_ Black, moreover?"

"Stranger things have happened," Albus pitched in mildly. "I am with Coop on this one. Sirius is black only by name, Bartemius."

"Yes, yes, so it's not unheard-of. Andromeda Black went off the rails a few years ago," Crouch admitted. "But Orion's _eldest_? I'll believe it when I see it. As for _you_ ," he turned to Coop again, "If you're telling the truth—"

"I don't have reason to lie."

"— _if_ you're telling the truth, the kid's a hero. But why and how did he get mixed up in that matter with the Muggle? Why not turn himself in? Why not clear this matter up a month ago?"

"I'll be sure to ask him if I see him."

"Is he here?"

Thankfully, the question was directed at Albus, who looked saddened when he spoke up.

"I wish he were, he would receive the help he undoubtedly needs."

Crouch stared at the Headmaster as though he could bore a hole into him.

" _Is he here_?" he repeated.

"No, Barty. He is not _here_." And did Crouch catch the slight inflection on the last word? Crouch let out a loud breath.

"Well, he must be found," he decided at length, clearly not liking the matter one bit.

"We have a detachment of Aurors and Hit Wizards looking in and around Godric's Hollow," Alastor supplied helpfully. Crouch snorted.

"What makes you think you'll find him now, if you haven't managed so far?"

"Look, Barty," Alastor pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning against. "I don't care what you believe, but _I_ believe what Potter says. There's even a witness who saw the whole thing that went down with the kid. The least we can do is try and find him, _help_ him, and clear this mess up."

"But the murder—"

"Is it really so hard for you to, if not believe, then at least _admit_ that it _could_ have been one of the twenty Death Eaters who were in Penarth too?" The old Auror erupted angrily. "People like Bellatrix Lestrange, or her husband? Or any of the others you _know_ were there, whom you _know_ wouldn't give a flying fig if some Muggle accidentally got caught in their crossfire?"

Crouch met Alastor's one eye with a cold look of his own. He shrugged his shoulders.

"That's as may be, but the witnesses have no reason to lie, and he was _seen_ with the girl when she died," he said, his voice as unfeeling and cold as his eyes. "The sooner the boy is found, the sooner we can give him a fair trial."

"Fair is the last thing that's going to be, if you've got any part in it," Moody snapped, voicing Coop's thoughts exactly. Barty Crouch had had a lifelong feud with Orion Black, who had denied him time and again the honour of belonging to the Wizengamot, and now Orion was gone, he was just carrying his hatred over to the next best thing, as he saw it.

For someone who dealt with justice every day, he was amazingly petty.

"He's _Orion's son_! There's no way— no way at all, that he _didn't_ do it!" Crouch snapped back. "And I _will_ comb this castle for the boy."

"You will need a warrant, as a matter of course," Albus said calmly, interrupting the furious tirade. Crouch glared at him, then at Bagnold.

Millicent was clearly, thankfully, not on the same page as Barty. She had been watching the exchange with something akin to mounting shock, and she stared right back at him.

"Barty," she said, her voice unwavering, "Albus is right. You'll have to go to the Wizengamot for a warrant. I will not give you one."

" _Fine_! But _when_ I find that kid, mark my words — he'll be guilty, _guilty_ and punished for it!"

Crouch stomped off, without a goodbye, and an instant later, the fireplace flared green.

Bagnold was flustered as she apologised for Crouch's behaviour, wished Coop and his family a speedy recovery, and excused herself as fast as she could, promising them to try and delay Barty's plan of searching the castle. It would be very bad for the school's reputation, if the Aurors came and searched the place. It would also be bad for the Ministry, because she was certain they wouldn't find anything.

"Now you've done it," Coop muttered, crossing his arms over his chest and giving his friend a sideways glance. "Wasn't it you who just told me not to _ruin_ everything?"

"He just makes me so _mad_!" Alastor grumbled.

"Yes, we noticed," Albus supplied. "Crouch will get that warrant, however; he'll be back with the Aurors before the night is through."

Coop scrubbed his hands over his face, feeling drained. "We'd best hurry, then," he said. "We need to get Sirius out of here, before the Ministry arrives."

"Is he well enough to travel?" Alastor asked. Coop shook his head, then shrugged helplessly.

"He'll have to be."

.

* * *

.

It was nearly noon when Narcissa apparated below the Hogsmeade bridge. She was filthy, tired, and completely out of sorts.

That half-breed Snape had sent her straight into a house, one she soon realised was the Potters' house, and it was completely empty. There had been screaming and yells coming from outside, and she'd been unable to apparate out! Instead, she'd had to hide like an animal, making her way to a nearby thicket, while a host of villagers and Aurors poured in.

She'd seen what had happened to everyone; her sister, her fiancée, her friends…

And then she'd apparated to Bella's house, to gather her bearings and try to return to school before she was missed.

Once there, however, she caught a call from Bellatrix over the Floo. She was telling the House Elves that they were to send her Lenora, but as soon as she realised that Narcissa was there, she immediately had tasked her with the burden. It didn't matter what Narcissa herself had to say on the matter— she must do it, to save the family's honour.

So she had gone to get the old pet and made her way over three apparition spots and two further fireplaces, until she arrived at a place called Little Hangleton.

And then, to make matters even _worse_ , she'd been forced to _walk_ the entire way out of the village and up a hill, carrying fifty pounds of snake.

Without magic!

But did she get _a single, measly word of thanks_?

No!

She was sooty, dishevelled and exhausted, two of her fingernails were broken, and her sister barely even acknowledged her at all, telling her to wait while she went into what looked like a ballroom.

Bellatrix took a long time coming back, and Narcissa had been wondering where the toilet was, when she was made to go before the Dark Lord himself! Without even having had any time to powder her nose!

She was mortified then, but she did manage to notice that everyone, the Master included, looked way worse than her, and was that blood on his hands?

"Narcissa, my dear. What brings you here at this hour?" He sounded vexed.

"My Lord," she replied nervously, "I was portkeyed to the Potter house."

"Ah, yes. The Portkey. So, tell me, little one, what befell you? Did you send me Potter as requested? I quite... forgot about him."

"I tried, my Lord— but that half-breed Snape ruined everything!"

"Explain yourself."

She did. She told him of the various attempts she and Snape had made on Potter (although mostly it had been him), and of the argument outside Potter's room, and how they'd heard Sirius —

"Wait." The Dark Lord held up a hand. Narcissa' mouth snapped shut. "He's at _Hogwarts_?"

"Yes, Lord," she answered. "I did not see him, I was too far away from the door, but I'm _sure_ it was him. He was telling them, those Mudblood lovers, that there was a Portkey on Potter. He was making them look for it, but we hadn't gotten around to placing it yet."

She expected the Dark Lord to be angry, to punish her, even. He did no such thing. Instead, he seemed curious.

"Interesting. Most, _most_ interesting, my dear Narcissa. What happened afterwards?"

"That idiot Snape put the Portkey in my pocket and I appeared at the Potters' house."

"And he stayed behind?"

"Yes, Lord."

"I believe I shall want to meet this Snape. Bring him to me, tomorrow night."

"Yes, my Lord."

And that was _that_.

She'd been sent away, like a common messenger! Not to mention, now she'd missed second period, hadn't slept all night, _and_ had to walk all the way from Hogsmeade back to the castle.

So, no. Narcissa was _not_ having a good time of it.

Worse yet was the fact that she had been tasked by the Dark Lord himself to get Snape to him. This meant speaking to the git, smuggling him out of the castle unseen, then apparating him to the first point where Bellatrix would pick him up.

She hoped he would be punished.

She wouldn't mind if he was killed, but the Dark Side hadn't become so powerful by making stupid mistakes; Snape's death would be looked into, and that wasn't convenient for anyone involved.

However, a sound punishment for nearly killing Potter and ruining their Master's plan would be something nobody would investigate, and Bella had promised Narcissa that he would get his comeuppance, if not by the Dark Lord, then by whomever would bring him back to Hogwarts; _nobody_ slighted a Black and got away with it unscathed.

The Death Eaters were ever so good at it too, not even leaving any marks unless it was desired.

Narcissa found that this was the only thing that made the ordeal bearable.

.

* * *

.

His Dad hadn't returned by lunchtime, and things were underfoot that James could sense but couldn't quite grasp, because he himself was asleep a few moments later.

A little after he woke up yet again, his Mum left his face peppered with kisses and promises she'd return soon, and went to get their Blackpool house ready, along with Angus McAlpin and Professor McGonagall — who had, of course, left James a humongous stack of homework to catch up on — and everything seemed so _normal_ it was astounding.

Despite everything that had happened, despite Sirius' state and his own, life apparently went on.

It made it hard to believe that he'd just met Moody, and learnt about the Order of the Phoenix, and… why hadn't he asked his Mum more about _that_?

Oh, right.

He'd fallen asleep right after.

However boring being stuck in hospital was, there was a lot he needed to sort out, and he might have been turned into a human chopping board, but his head was completely unaffected. It took the advantage of the situation to start turning circles around the kind of thoughts that should have no place in any sixteen-year-old's head.

It was awful to just think that Voldemort had invaded Godric's Hall, never mind having to accept it as truth, and it had been terrifying and incredibly painful to witness through Sirius' eyes, but he could feel, perhaps for the first time, the looming threat of a repetition hovering like a fat black rain cloud above his head.

Now, James was not oblivious to the war or its horrors; for almost six years now, he'd heard the news, he knew people who had been hit directly, and he'd been faced with it in the flesh before, ever since the Yule, but he'd _not_ expected Sirius to be half-killed again; he'd never seen his _Dad_ hurt before; he'd never actually witnessed firsthand — through Sirius' eyes, but that was as good as being there — how terrifying and all-encompassing a real raid of the Dark Side could be; he had never felt a Cruciatus Curse either, and he had never been this badly injured before, much less while all of _that_ happened.

James realised that a part of him, one that had always believed himself and his family untouchable, one that had blindly trusted that nothing _could_ happen as long as his parents were around, had just been proven very, very _wrong_.

He _wasn't_ invincible. His family wasn't either.

It was not merely a humbling thought; it was a _frightening_ one.

It wasn't until then that the war really, truly, entered his life, touching a fibre that had been scoured red-raw already, and he didn't know how to deal with this new, sickening feeling of dread that had settled in the pit of his stomach and didn't seem to want to leave him.

And yet... nobody had _died_ , his Dad was better, Moody was helping them with… something helpful, and James needed to cling to that bit of good news (the only bit of good news there was), so he did. Like a lifeline. Everything else was just too depressing and worrisome to bear.

Remus and Peter came to visit after classes, and, while James could compete for flobberworm of the year and was thoroughly miserable, they cheered him up almost instantly.

"Thank the gods you're here," James said gratefully, the moment they poked their heads through the door. He wasn't the only one who was happy to see them; Pomfrey wasted no time tasking both with feeding duties.

"We missed you too," Remus said with a grin, helping James sit up a little better and propping him up on a few pillows.

"What's news?" James asked.

"Did you read the paper?" Pete asked at once. James nodded, grimacing.

"Well, you are the news," was the answer. Remus let Peter take over feeding duties, sitting cross-legged at the foot of James' bed. "And Sirius, now people heard he's alive, it's that old debate all over again."

"It's more interesting now, though," Pete supplied, fixing James' broth so it would be more palatable. "Now chicks are fighting over who never doubted him versus who believed him a murderer last time."

"They'd go wild if they knew he's here," Remus agreed. "Honest, they were even fighting over his picture in the paper."

James grinned despite his own feelings on the matter. He couldn't deny that the images popping up in his mind's eye were amusing.

Remus and Peter didn't stop their efforts to cheer him up, even though they did discuss the current situation. As Marauders, they weren't good at beating around the bush, much less now after everything that had happened and continued happening, and James felt heartened just having them here, especially since one bed over, there was still no movement at all, and, near-sighted as he might be, he hadn't missed their troubled expressions when they looked in on Sirius.

Still, they managed to shake out of it, making him laugh with some ideas on how to get the Ministry all turned around if they did come looking for their friend and making plans for when Sirius woke up, until the first visitors arrived and Pomfrey hid Sirius away from prying eyes.

Although James took a few unplanned naps here and there, he did manage to register that before dinner, the Gryffindor Quidditch team had come to visit, as did other friends from Gryffindor and other Houses too. Most of them were outraged about what had happened to him, the rest were worried (especially the Quidditch team, because without him, they'd lose to Ravenclaw), and all of them came bearing the news that Sirius had been _seen_ , and did he know that he was _alive_?

It was heart-warming to witness the change among his friends and other students; where they had been quite easily swayed into believing that Sirius was a murderer - and worse, he couldn't forget everything that had been said about him lately - now the articles in the Daily Prophet were making them think otherwise.

No Death Eater, Amelia argued, would be openly targeted by You-Know-Who like the paper said Sirius had been. That only happened to people who refused him, and, this time, James didn't hear anyone speak up to the contrary. Where he had been having kittens about people's reaction to Sirius being spotted, James realised that it was actually working in his favour here, and he told them what his Dad had decided earlier they would tell everyone - that Sirius had saved his Dad's life, and that he'd trapped all the Death Eaters. In short, he told the truth.

It was refreshing to be able to, even if he was careful not to let anything slip that could endanger everything. He'd learnt his lesson regarding consequences, and he wasn't about to mess up again.

"Did he change the Dark Mark too?" Marlene McKinnon asked. She was sitting next to her brother Martin, the newly-drafted Ravenclaw Beater the Gryffindors were all in a tiz over, who had come to wish James a speedy recovery. Next to her, Hufflepuff Myron Wagtail and Ravenclaw Amelia Bones were enthralled by James' story, but, and this was the beauty of the whole thing, _nobody_ doubted it this time.

"Yeah, he did. And then he sent my Dad on his way here with an elf," James told them.

" _Whoa_."

And that was all anyone could say on the matter.

They asked many more questions, which James had no trouble answering, mostly about his Dad, and if he was okay, and his Mum, and did he know who had attacked him, because they were trying to find the Hogwarts Slasher (so they'd dubbed his assailant), and all he could do was assure them that he hadn't a clue about any of what had happened. He only lied about one thing; when asked if he knew where Sirius was now, and if he was alright, he only shook his head and looked away with a mumbled, "I don't know."

More visitors poured in, so Remus and Peter told him later, but they took over retelling the story that was spreading across the school like a very enthusiastic wildfire. James wasn't awake for half of it, and soon his side table was overflowing with get-well cards and flowers and candy, which to James, seemed to appear out of thin air, whenever he woke. The candy seemed to vanish as well, as the healthy portion of the Marauders dug into it with gusto.

Until, of course, they were shoo'd off by Poops and sent to get some dinner, with the parting warning that she would not give them anything for hat stomach ache they'd surely get for gorging themselves on sweets all afternoon.

To James it was as if his friends had taken all the cheer with them to the Great Hall, leaving not a shred of it behind for his benefit. He understood that he needed his wounds cleaned out and bandages changed and things, and most importantly, Poops needed to get Sirius sorted out in peace, but without Pete's jokes and Remus' antics, James had nothing left to do but fret.

Although it was hardly the first time he'd spent some time in the Hospital Wing, it had never been this bad or this depressing, and Sirius wasn't even awake to share the burden…

Not, James amended to himself, that he would have to. If anything, James was determined not to let his friend lapse back into that depressing spiral, he just wished he knew what to tell him when he did wake up that would cheer him up.

He turned his head to the side, watching Poops look after Sirius, and though he didn't have the clearest of views, the number of blood-soaked gauze pads she tossed into a walking bin that followed her around as she worked, and listening to the many spells she cast on him, were a clear indicator that Sirius wasn't doing as well as his parents and the nurse herself would want him to believe.

James caught himself wondering if he'd wake up at all, just as had happened those eternal few days after Christmas, and he was worrying how he'd be when he did wake up, so he was earnestly surprised when he realised Sirius was looking straight at him.

He wasn't sure if Sirius could see him, his eyes were bloodshot like anything and sort of unfocused… but he was blinking groggily and kind of squinting, so that meant that at least he was awake.

Sort of.

Pomfrey hadn't missed it, either.

"Welcome back, Sirius," the nurse said in her kindest voice, drawing both their attentions towards her. James watched her shine some light from her wand into Sirius' eyes, run a few tests, and cast a handful of spells, and though she gave James an encouraging smile as she bustled off to get some potions, he hadn't missed the way she'd been frowning and tutting to herself a minute ago.

James watched Sirius for a moment, his mind reaching out to him, but meeting with a foggy sort of blankness instead. He was relieved that Sirius was still awake, but he was so out of it, that James felt that sick sensation of worry rising up in his stomach once again, which he voiced in the best way he knew:

"You look like someone TP'd your face."

Sirius blinked slowly at him, then seemed to give up on trying to see anything — he c _ouldn't_ see anything beyond blurry fragments of colour, James realised with a pang. Pomfrey had said that he'd hit his head again, but was it this bad?

_Yeah well, you look like a midget with glasses._

Sirius' voice erupted in James' head after a few long moments, making him give a start. Sirius in his head sounded much like his old self, even though in the flesh he seemed quite moribund.

"How are you feeling, then?" James asked after a few seconds, when it was clear that his friend was not about to stir, or say, or do anything except breathe. Thankfully, thinking was something he still seemed capable of doing.

_Like I've been used as a practice bludger by a bunch of trolls._

Which was a pretty accurate assessment.

"You look the part too," James informed. "Dad told me what you did," he said next, as his mind was turning to its favoured pastime of fretting. "It was pretty—"

_Daring and bold and properly death-defying?_ Sirius suggested with true innocence.

"I was going to say stupid."

Sirius made a strangled sort of noise in the back of his throat. It took James a second to realise that he wasn't choking; the git was _laughing_. He seemed to be struggling to, but it was relieving to see he was still capable of chuckling like a deranged hyena, even if it was about something James didn't find funny at all.

At least he hadn't forgotten how to smile this time around.

_Hey, it worked, didn't it?_ Sirius asked him flippantly. 

"Yeah, it did Padfoot… but just _look_ at you."

_I can't really see much of anything. You'll have to describe it. Or lend me your specs._

Right, poor choice of words. James hadn't gotten any imagery to go with Sirius' thoughts yet, just the same fragmented blurs, but he decided not to focus on it.

"I'm not describing anything. It's _bad_ , mate. Your fans will be ever so heartbroken because you'll be all disfigured. Kind of like Moody, only worse."

_It wasn't_ _ **that**_ _bad,_ came as a reply, following some half-arsed attempt at an inward assessment. Which failed rather dismally, because Sirius couldn't so much as feel his toes. He was still wrapped in that blank, foggy sort of numbness, and James was glad for it.

"Yeah, you're definitely, totally, wholly and entirely blind."

_I'm sure it's temporary,_ said Sirius dismissively.

Moreover, and most disturbingly, he _wasn't_ freaking out about being incapable of moving or seeing. It was most unlike what he'd ever been like upon waking up before, and it made James' worry grow into an unsettled, suppressed sort of alarm, which he had no words for, either. Sirius' mind, though, was on to something else already, his own worries untangling themselves enough for a question to surface.

_Your Dad? And your Mum? Where…?_

"Dad's all better," James told him reassuringly. "Not sure what Poops did, but he's been up and about since morning…" He was also talking to the Ministry, with his _Auror_ friend who was a part of the _Order of the Phoenix_ , but James sensed that Sirius was being kept from being aware of anything going on with and around him for a reason, so he didn't say anything about that, adding instead: "And Mum went to get some things ready, she said she wouldn't be long." Sirius missed them both already, James could feel that longing quite clearly.

_How are you faring?_ he asked next.

"I'll be okay. 'Course, I can't move for buggerall yet."

_Me either._ Having established that, Sirius seemed to lapse for a few moments, but then he broke the silence yet again. _You know, now I've got this damned itchy spot between my shoulder blades, right on that **one** spot you can't ever reach…_ James caught a momentary flash of an itch, which only grew and grew, until he realised...

"Gah, man…" he groaned. "Now I've got one too!"

Sirius' raspy laughter echoed off the walls of their room, and it was this, along with James trying to twist about and scratch himself, what welcomed the nurse back as she returned.

Poops gave James an earful for moving where he shouldn't, and she didn't want to have to patch his cuts up yet again, and what was he _thinking_ …

The git he had for a brother wasn't even itchy, James realised, as she took pity on him and gave his back a good scratch; Sirius was completely numbed head to toe, blinder than a Potter, and rather dopey loopy. That would account for his amusement where there was none to be had, although James sensed there was a bit more to it than that.

It hit him a moment later, like a dose of the daily obvious.

Sirius was, simply put, relieved that he was alive at all.

James was a little foggy on the details, but he couldn't forget that his best mate had given up on all hopes of making it out of Godric's Hall with a breath still in his body, and that was even _before_ he went provoking the Death Eaters and got himself all bashed to bits… and got Voldemort and his Munchers munched on, James could not forget that, either. Further, Sirius was glad that James himself and his Dad were all right, and that was roughly where his brain had decided to park itself, as his thought process shut down right after.

By the time the little crisis had been averted, James turned to look and saw that Sirius was out of it again.

.

* * *

.

The Potters' Blackpool summer home was a small, cozy affair compared to the grand manor house they usually dwelt in; however, to Betty it was the most homely house they owned.

James had grown up here, swimming in the sea or flying with them around the nearby sea stacks, and for the past couple of years they had had Sirius over as well.

Although it was winter, the old place still radiated the warmth and safety of what made it so special. She had always claimed that love was in the air here, and she could feel it still, unshakeable and reassuring.

Her elves had been hard at work since dawn, refusing to take a day off even now, after the attack on their home; they were airing out the bedrooms, stocking the pantry, and arguing in shrill voices about the menu for tomorrow, when the boys would hopefully be here to fully heal.

"It's a nice place ye have here," Angus said in his booming voice.

"I love it here," Betty told him, handing Minerva a soot brush to clean herself up. "We only use it in the summer, usually, for a week or two, but when James was little we stayed for months at a time."

"So, what do you need us to do?" Minerva asked. They were in the family room, which was filled with board games and led to a wide conservatory on one end, overlooking the famous sandy beach of the resort town.

"I'd say the wards need to be woven anew," said Angus, "although I am still hoping ye will come and stay at Dal Riada."

"And I would love to have you over in Hogsmeade, I hardly use my house," Minerva added. Betty smiled at them, shaking her head.

"Are you two sure you don't want to come here for a while? We'd be thrilled to have you over for a few days."

They laughed, and started working a little later; while the elves were cleaning the house, they recast most wards and wove a new series of alarm spells into the wood of the house.

Angus checked the spells that made the house unplottable, which had become a standard precaution of sorts, and then decided that they needed a little more space. He started with the boys' small bedroom, which he enlarged and connected to the main bedroom through a passage, "So ye'll get to each other fast if need be," and installed an emergency exit to the beach.

After that, he and Minerva charmed several other such emergency escape routes into being, hidden behind and under expertly-transfigured decorations. Betty even suspected her old friend had had a hand in fixing the plumbing. It had been rattling for years, but Coop never got around to fixing it.

"What do ye reckon?" he asked Betty proudly, as he led her into the new and improved bedroom for her convalescing kids.

Betty was speechless for a moment.

"Angus, they'll _love_ it."

He'd transformed the place into something that would make life easier for her and Coop while looking after their bedridden boys; half the room was dedicated to the healing supplies Betty had been stocking in the kitchen, and anything that might be remotely needed, but the other half was also bound to make the boys' stay in bed much more comfortable. He'd widened the windows so they could enjoy the view, and given them magically swivelling tables on their beds, a wireless, and made everything they could need easily accessible while lying down. He had even wheeled in the family's Muggle television set; James had never much watched the tube, but she knew that Sirius loved his Muggle things, and that incredibly bad Saturday show of Doctor Who. If anything, the boys would be entertained.

"Are you sure ye don't want to come to Dal Riada?" Angus asked her. Betty smiled.

"Are you sure you don't need a few days at the beach?" she asked instead.

Angus waggled his head dubiously, but Betty only smiled more widely.

"I'll get the guest rooms ready, just in case."

.

* * *

.

"Narcissa, what a _surprise_ to have you join us," Severus sneered for a greeting as she reached the Slytherin table. Dinner was nearly over, and she could already see the warning look that Slughorn was giving her. Of course he'd heard that she'd skived all day, but what was she to do? Soot didn't exactly wash off easily, and just her mani-pedi had taken the better part of the morning.

Slughorn's look though, read clearly, "My office. After dinner. Then, detention."

However, right now, Narcissa didn't care a whit about such trifles. She was on a mission, much as she hated it.

Well, _most_ of it.

It would be very satisfying when Snape received his punishment, and she would be there to see him return, properly cowed and hopefully also black and blue.

"Isn't it just," she said loftily, nodding at her friends. She would join them in a minute; for now, she had something more important to do, so she sat across from Snape, serving herself some apple pie, and serving him some too. He lost the sneer almost at once, trading it for a look of surprise. She decided, as she put the magically shrunken letter on his plate, that the sneer suited him far better. Looking like an idiot wasn't something he did well. She paused only long enough for him to see the dark green and silver seal on the black envelope, and put a large dollop of cream on top of it. She knew what dairy did to him.

Call it a prelude of what was to come.

"I had quite the adventure, you know," she said, lavishly putting cream on her pie now. All blood had drained from Snape's face. It made his spots stand out. "Visited my sister and her… _friends_. It was a very… last minute sort of thing."

"That's nice," he said lamely, his eyes fixed on the plate. He swallowed. "Did you read the paper?"

"Of course I did… even though I didn't need to," she said primly, smiling her most dazzling smile at him. "I was there, after all. Tsk, tsk. And now I'm playing courier, as you see. Eat up and enjoy your _pie_ , Severus. I'll see you when I see you."

Snape's fingers were trembling as he reached for the dessert plate. She swept to her feet.

"Oh, and," she added, placing a freshly-manicured hand on top of his, "do take a bath beforehand. My sister's friend cannot _abide_ filth, and honestly, neither can I."

She went to join her friends, as though nothing was wrong.

As far as Narcissa Black was concerned, nothing was. Nothing at all.

She watched Snape force down the pie and clotted cream, bite after bite. He looked quite green at the end of it, trying to fish the letter from the bottom of the plate without drawing attention to himself. Her mum had been right; nothing tasted as good as some sweet revenge.

The pie was quite tasty, too.

.

* * *

.

"Are we good to go, then?" Betty asked tensely.

Around her, a handful of heads nodded.

It was nearly midnight, but they had long given up on getting any sleep anytime soon; with Crouch on the warpath for that warrant, they couldn't afford to go to bed and wait for a more convenient time to do this.

Janus Dearborn had sent word to Hogwarts moments earlier, telling them that Crouch would arrive at midnight. They had very little time to waste.

However adamant Poppy was against them moving Sirius at all, and despite their own concerns of the risk involved, it was their only chance. Even James agreed to the plan without the arguments they had expected. Sirius, of course, was out for the count the entire time.

Betty hoped he'd stay that way.

Coop would stay at Hogwarts with James, and he and Albus would humour Barty Crouch and allow him to search high and low for Sirius in the castle. In the meantime, Betty would Floo Sirius out of the nurse's fireplace, which Alastor had just connected to the network, and to Blackpool, where Angus and his family were already waiting for them. An illegal, hopefully untraceable connection he would obliterate as soon as they were gone.

With luck, all the Aurors and Crouch would find, was some red-hot ashes.

Betty kissed her husband goodbye, knocking her forehead against his.

"Don't do anything stupid, darling," she advised.

"I'll try my best. Send word as soon as you're safe."

"Angus is already at home, and I'll be back soon," Betty told him. "Alastor, do make sure he stays on point."

"Oh, I will," he rasped out, chuckling and nodding her towards the fireplace. One of the portraits in the nurse's office was already warning that Crouch had arrived with twenty Aurors, flailing a bit of parchment around over his head like a flag.

"Do look after my boys."

"Consider it done."

She hugged Minerva, who promised to visit over the weekend, then threw in the Floo Powder and got into the grate, where Poppy levitated Sirius' sleeping form in with her. They'd wrapped him in a sheet to keep him from moving, but if he regained consciousness, it wouldn't be a pleasant waking.

"Hold him tight," was the unnecessary advice she received. She didn't ever want to let _go_. "Especially if he wakes up; you don't want to fall out the wrong grate."

As if on cue, Sirius began to stir. Betty nodded, adjusting him in her arms.

"Blackpool, Potter house!" She yelled, and was gone the next instant in a flash of light.

They were all so focused on the goings-on by the fire, that none of them noticed the figure that stole away in the shadows and hurried out.

.

* * *

.

Alastor immediately started disconnecting the fireplace, while Coop looked in on James, and Minerva fished a bottle of Old Ogden's from a trunk, setting up glasses for everyone around the table.

Poppy smiled and began pouring the drinks, downing one to hide her nerves.

"I'm ever too old for these capers," she said, giggling a little, but she expertly dealt a hand of poker anyway. Tonight, save for James, her wing was empty, and their plan, though they had all labelled it as childish, would probably fool the Aurors without a problem.

When the Ministry arrived, they'd find a deeply sleeping James (thank Merlin for Dreamless Sleep Potion), and the four of them having a bit of downtime, playing poker and having a few drinks; Alastor would swear up and down that Coop hadn't been out of his sight all day, Coop would swear up and down that Betty had gone home to get freshened up; she'd return halfway through the search, all oblivious like and wondering what was the matter. Minerva was there as a witness, and Sirius would be nowhere to be found. Tomorrow, Coop and Betty would take James home as planned, and nobody would be any the wiser.

Hopefully.

Coop returned from looking in on his son, and only had time to pick up his cards, as the door to the Hospital Wing opened.

"My dear Barty, is this really necessary?" Albus' voice trailed towards them. Alastor cursed under his breath, tinkering with the grate feverishly.

"If he were in this castle, he'd surely be here," Crouch snapped.

"Yes, however, he is not, and you might disturb the patients."

"Better disturbed than in the company of a filthy murderer," Crouch answered shortly. "Alright, you, you, and you, start over there. You two, with me. The rest of you, make yourselves useful and search the castle."

Alastor flopped down next to Poppy, downing his glass with a wide grin of relief.

"Can I have another, my dear?"

"Don't overdo it," she warned with a smile, but poured them both drinks, while Minerva put on her stern Head-of-House mien and strode purposefully to greet the new arrivals.

"What is the matter, Headmaster?" she asked. "And what are you doing here, Bartemius?"

.

* * *

.

The first thing he registered was that he was spinning. This wasn't in and of itself uncommon upon waking, but usually the world tilted _around_ him while he felt like that other day, when he and James had gotten a taste of Firewhiskey (and, obviously liked it, so they snuck in a few more) and got completely smashed.

This didn't feel _remotely_ like that.

He was whirling about like crazy, and someone was holding him tightly, he realised, as his head was bumping against that someone's shoulder.

Next, his brain decided to inform him that this was _not_ what he'd been doing last it checked. He'd been at Hogwarts, he recalled vaguely, with James. He'd also been lying down, and pointedly _not_ here, wherever here was.

Alarm flared.

He tried to move, but Merlin's most shrivelled balls, he _couldn't_. There was something wrapped tight around him, holding his arms and legs in place, and he didn't have the strength to so much as writhe. Sirius tried to say something, but that too, seemed impossible. He called out to James in his mind, for help — there was no response, James wasn't even awake.

_Now_ , his brain supplied, _would be a good time to panic_.

So panic he did, struggling against the bonds holding him tight, in a desperate bid for freedom. Pain flared up at once, searing and sharp, triggering a moan from the depths of his throat. He couldn't see anything, just flashing blurs of colour that made him feel impossibly ill on top of it all.

"Hush, sweetheart," a familiar voice said, very close to his ear; one that could command his attention, no matter what. "Stay still, it'll be over before you know it."

Heart thumping so hard he could almost hear it past the whooshing sound of their mad reeling motion, Sirius wrenched his eyes shut, wincing as they came to a sudden halt, then were sent flying forwards. Or sideways, he couldn't tell.

Mrs. P was suddenly gone, and he had time to wonder if he'd imagined her altogether as he crashed into something hard. He cried out, as suddenly there was scrambling all around him, and then there were more hands on him, grabbing and trying to hold him still, or move him, or _something_ , he neither knew nor cared. Their every touch set raw nerves to blaze up, pain shooting hotly from every fibre. He tried to move, get away from them, but nothing would respond to his frenzied commands—

"Easy does it, lad," a booming voice said from somewhere nearby, but whom it belonged to was lost to him. Sirius' mind was engaged in a long string of, " _Aaaaaaaaaahhh_!" and completely unhelpful, as he and his brain simultaneously came to the only conclusion they could.

He had been taken.

He had no idea how that had happened, and right now he didn't care, his every effort going to one thing that was engraved in his muscle memory so deeply, it seemed like the only natural thing to do.

"I'll let them know we've arrived, do take him upstairs," again, that was Mrs. P's voice, but somehow, now Sirius doubted it was her at all. He had no way of telling, and he only redoubled his efforts to get out of the bindings.

"Aye, we got him covered."

Sirius' eyes were open wide, trying to make something out beyond the vague blurs that fogged his vision, but he got nothing; even his nose failed to pick up any familiar scents, except for burning wood and smoke from the fireplace, which seemed to be everywhere, making him choke and cough. He felt like he was falling apart — Gods, what had he gotten himself into _now_?

"Ah _shite_ , how the hell do we keep him still?" one of them boomed.

"Get the potions!"

"Clear the air first—"

"I thought you'd cleaned the fireplace? There's smoke everywhere!"

"I _did_! Now hold him still."

"Here, give him this," a female voice said, and a moment later a huge hand tried to wrench his mouth open, undoubtedly to pour something in.

"Just a sip, and you'll go right back to sleep…" Sirius gritted his teeth together, whatever it was, it couldn't be good, could it. He moved his head to one side, and finally, he managed to jerk away from their grip. He heard something break, there were startled oaths – he couldn't make heads or tails of any of it. Sirius' breath was coming in ragged gasps, broken by an equally ragged moan as he bumped into something else and white hot pain shot from his head right to his toes.

"Poppy said he'd be asleep until tomorrow—"

"Yeah, well he's _not_!"

"We'll just wait for Betty to come back, shall we," the booming deep voice announced. "We can't move him like this."

"Best idea you've had all day, love."

"Give him here," someone else said, "you're only frightening him."

"And ye can do any better, eh, lass?"

"He doesn't know where he is, and he can't see or move — and uncle, I don't think he knows you, but he'll know me."

_No, I don't!_ He wanted to yell, but all his throat was forthcoming with was a raspy, strangled sort of moan, which choked off all its own as a different pair of arms was suddenly around him, soft and gentle, and he was shifted onto his side. The pain stopped mounting, but he still hurt all over.

"It's me," came next, as he was carefully adjusted against another shoulder. He could hear breathing, a heartbeat that wasn't his own, past the crazy drumroll threatening to burst out of his ears. "It's Nina. You're safe, Sirius. This is a safe place."

Yes, he recognised that voice. It was still hard to believe, though, and while he was busy trying to process this new information, the wrappings around him loosened, and were gone the next instant.

"Nina?" Sirius asked. It was just a sliver of sound, but it was followed by a peck on the cheek that confirmed it.

"Yes, now try to lie still before you hurt yourself more."

He didn't; he _couldn't_ , limbs trying to complete the very movements he had been struggling for in jerks and twitches, and now that he was no longer bound, he felt himself shaking on and off again, the all-too-familiar darkness steadily eating away at his already half-arsed awareness.

A hand brushed the side of his face, and he could smell a familiar scent; past the apricot and strawberry, his mind identified _Nina_ , and his mind's eye supplied the image that he could not see. It did more than just that, his personal catalogue of smells and sounds reminded him of a time in the not so distant past, which stood out vividly; that day he met her, when he visited Alfie last. She'd just arrived in Scotland the day before…

"Where…?" Where are we, Sirius tried to ask, but his voice had decided to leave him altogether. He only managed a whisper, but she heard him.

"You're in Blackpool," Nina's voice told him, "at the Potters' house. Mrs. Potter is just writing a letter, she'll be back in a minute."

Blackpool. Yeah, that sounded about right.

"Well, I'll be…" the booming voice said, somewhere to his left, and he could hear a chuckle, followed by some muttered incantations and shuffling about.

"How do you feel?" Nina asked. She was holding on to him, but he could feel her hands on him, trying to adjust him or maybe something else, all he knew was that it,

"Hurts," Sirius gritted out, and it was no lie. He felt like a throbbing, searing heap of splinters.

"Where?"

_Everywhere_.

"It… it… h— _aah_. _Th-there_."

"Sorry," she withdrew her hand from the sore spot on his midriff. "Here, drink this. It'll make you feel a little better." Something hard touched his lips, and he'd swallowed a bitter mouthful of potion before he even realised what he was doing.

"Better?" she asked next, followed by a clinking sound.

Yes, he wanted to say, but the darkness that was creeping in on him even as the pain dissipated into nothing, became complete before he could voice the word.

.

* * *

.

"Is he here?"

The cool voice made Severus' knees feel weak, and he wasn't even standing before the Dark Lord yet; he was outside the room the Death Eaters who had brought him over called the "throne room", waiting in the hallway of some old house he'd been brought to in the dead of night.

He had been surprised to see Narcissa approach him at dinner; he'd regretted sending her off with the Portkey, particularly after he saw the paper that morning, but not out of concern for her. It served her right for insulting him, and he'd shown her he wasn't one to be messed with. He'd been fretting over his own safety all day instead. His and Potter's, if that idiot died before he was supposed to, he'd only make the Dark Lord angry at Severus himself, and that wasn't something he wanted to happen at all.

He felt — maybe rightly so — that he was in over his head with all of this.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time; he'd get his payback, and Potter would get his comeuppance, and his life would be dandy from there on out. Severus', not Potter's. But now, Severus realised he hadn't quite thought things through, and he was aware that he could have done better. Dumbledore had already wanted to see him before classes, and though he didn't think that he'd manage to pin the assault on Potter on him, Severus knew he had to tread carefully from here on out.

This was totally _not_ what he should be doing, just now, if he followed his own advice. But who in their right minds denied the Dark Lord anything?

Not Severus. Not for one _minute_.

Besides, if he was admitted by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Dumbledore could shove his suspicions where the sun didn't shine, Severus would be _untouchable_. He stared at the tiled floor beneath his feet, smiling to himself a little despite it all. The Dark Lord wanted to see him, _him_ , after all.

The letter Narcissa had dumped the cream on had not been a threat; it had been an _invitation_ , a formal one at that, as though the Dark Lord knew he was dealing with the heir of the Prince family, and no matter if he was a half-blood, his blood was still purer than most. Severus had kept it in his pocket, fingering it all evening, if only to make sure that it was real, that it was still there.

He hadn't been able to focus on his Transfiguration assignments all night, so he'd gone to look in on Potter instead — it wouldn't do if that dimwit died on him if the Dark Lord wanted him alive — and he had stumbled on the most interesting thing. He'd seen the Potters move Black out of the school, mere moments before a group of Aurors arrived, probably to search for him.

There had been so much going on in the castle that Severus had had no problem reaching the Entrance Hall unseen, and from there, Narcissa had disillusioned him and smuggled him outside the apparition wards, then taken him to an alleyway in some village or other— he had no idea which — where Bellatrix Lestrange and one more Death Eater in a mask had collected him. This had repeated itself half a dozen times, until they arrived outside a sleeping village — he still didn't know where he was — and walked all the way to a grand manor up a hill.

And now here he was, on the verge of changing his life _forever_.

"Show him inside."

Heart thumping with excitement and a little dread, Severus nodded at the masked Death Eater who had been standing by the door, and walked inside.

.

* * *

TBC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Up: Snape finds out the Dark Side does not have biscuits, Sirius and James get visits, the Potters finally get some sleep. Voldemort tries his hand at motivational speaking, and Sirius overrides his visual problems.


	16. Twelve Monkeys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Lots of Snape in this one, for some odd reason, which shunted the original plot further down the line (again). Sirius and James get visited by their boo boo butter babes. Coop and Betty finally get a full night's sleep. Voldemort turns his attention to other endeavours, like teamwork and motivation. Snape finds out the Dark Side doesn't have biscuits, and times, they are a-changing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I only own Angus and Nina!

* * *

**Part Sixteen: Twelve Monkeys**

* * *

.

Red eyes shone into his, visible across the long, richly furnished room. Severus' shoes sank into a plush carpet so thick it felt as though he were floating. Or maybe it was those eyes, commanding him, beckoning him forward.

Along the room, Death Eaters in black robes and silver masks were standing or lounging in elegant sofas, but not a word was spoken. All eyes were on Severus, but he was only aware of one pair.

The Dark Lord was a tall, handsome man, who sat leisurely on a high-backed chair. Not unlike a throne. At his side, was the largest black python he had ever seen, coiled up on an equally elegant satin cushion.

"Forward, boy. I won't bite." Even his voice was satin on silk. Never had Severus been so enthralled in his life. He obeyed, kneeling before the Dark Lord out of his own volition.

"It is an honour, sir."

The Dark Lord raised an eyebrow in appreciation.

"Rise, boy." Severus did so. "My dear Narcissa tells me that you are the reason for Potter's internment?"

It wasn't a question.

"Yes, my Lord." Somehow, he knew that those were the words he was meant to use. Voldemort smiled.

"Tell me, Severus. Tell me everything."

Severus did. The red eyes boring into his held none of Dumbledore's warmth, but, just as it happened with the Hogwarts Headmaster, he felt as though they penetrated so deeply into him, as though he were trying to see through him, into his mind, like he was being laid bare before this formidable wizard.

He told him everything, hesitantly at first; he spoke of his long feud against Black and Potter, told him of his humiliation at their hands — and managed not to sound whiny, he didn't think — and how he had been itching for revenge, told him about his every last failed attempt, until he caught Potter unawares a few days earlier. He spoke of the Portkey fiasco, managing to spin it so that it sounded like he hadn't meant for Narcissa to vanish in Potter's stead, because he wasn't sure of the time right then, and it would have been impossible to place it on Potter, what with a host of people already looking for the Portkey itself.

Voldemort listened attentively, even chuckling good-naturedly at parts of his tale, with a smile that nevertheless failed to be warming or ingratiating.

"So Potter is still at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"He lives?"

Severus let out an inward sigh of relief, mostly at being able to provide his answer, "He does, my Lord."

"And what of Black? My sources tell me that Crouch is even now scouring the school for him."

Severus was so glad that he'd gone to make sure that Potter wasn't dead yet.

"He's alive, only just. But… They took him away, my Lord," he answered.

"That _is_ news," the Dark Lord leaned forward keenly. Severus felt a frisson of pride at having something to provide to the great wizard, after all. "How did you come by it?"

"I went to look in on Potter earlier, and I saw Potter's parents taking Black away."

"Do you know where he was taken? Hogsmeade, perhaps? Or…"

"They took him to their house in Blackpool, my Lord."

"How?"

"They used the Floo. I don't know if they'll keep him there, but…" should he _speculate_? Somehow it didn't feel right, but…

"Speak your mind, boy!"

Severus gave a small start, but caught himself right after.

"He didn't look like he'd survive the trip, my Lord."

"No, no he wouldn't," Voldemort smiled coldly. "We made sure of that at least, didn't we?"

Around the room, the Death Eaters laughed, and for the first time, Severus was aware of them all.

"So, the Potters are indeed protecting him. And that fool Dumbledore, of course."

"I also saw Professor McGonagall," Severus supplied. "And Alastor Moody, the Auror."

Voldemort whistled between his teeth.

"Most _interesting_. Anything else?"

Severus shook his head, "I left before they could see me, my Lord. All I know is they had word that Crouch and the Aurors had arrived."

There was a thoughtful silence, during which Voldemort idly stroked his snake's head. Severus waited, wondering if he should leave or something, when the Dark Lord spoke up.

"I must ask you one more thing, Severus. You are fifteen, are you not?"

"Sixteen a couple of weeks ago, my Lord."

"Six… teen." The Dark Lord mulled this over, watching him closely. "I daresay he's old enough, and he has proven himself useful already. I heard of your aid in impersonating Black for us after Christmas," he told Severus appreciatively. Severus' heart leapt. "I believe he could be of great use to us all. Do you disagree?" That last was directed at the Death Eaters.

"No, my Lord." The answer was unanimous.

"Neither do I. Severus Snape, last of the Princes, would you join me and my cause?"

Severus' heart skipped a beat.

Just like _that_ , his life was _changing_.

"Of course," he breathed, then caught himself. "I mean, yes. _Yes_ , my Lord, I would."

Voldemort's smile actually reached his eyes this time.

"Excellent. I feel that I shall have a great many uses for you, young Severus Snape." Severus was aware that the Death Eaters were moving, surrounding him in a circle.

"Come over here," the Dark Lord instructed, gesturing towards a spot in the centre of the room. "Now kneel."

Severus did.

"Severus Snape, you have been selected to be one of the Few," the Death Eaters chorused. "Extend your left arm and be branded as one of the Chosen."

.

* * *

.

When he opened his eyes, it was to him as though he were waking in reverse. The images he had been trying to escape from — blood splattering on snow, the Muggle girl's wide-eyed, terrified expression as she fell, bleeding to death — those vanished as soon as he woke…

Along with everything else.

There weren't even any coloured blurs this time, just blackness.

It was worse than the nightmare, somehow.

Sirius tried to sit up, but only found that he couldn't move at all. He felt a flash of pain, which evolved into a generalised sort of throbbing; he paid it no mind, because it was followed by a sharp sensation of dread, which made everything else seem unimportant.

Before it could assert itself and get a boost into outright panic by his present problems, though, he swallowed it back; instead of giving in to fear, he let his mind slip into the dog's, and started dissecting every last scrap of information he could gather with his remaining senses.

He heard breathing nearby that wasn't his own, the cries of sea gulls outside, and waves crashing on a shoreline. The air smelled of the sea, and this time he recognised the other scents that reached his nose, past the familiar aromas of healing potions and the Potters' freshly-washed linens. He'd been in Blackpool a few times before, and hadn't he been told that was where he was, now?

Or had that been a dream?

He didn't know.

And… how long had he been out of it? He had no idea; it could have been ten minutes or days, he just couldn't tell.

And… where was James? He vaguely remembered seeing — or rather, sensing — him, back at Hogwarts. He'd been awake, hadn't he? But Sirius' probing senses told him James was asleep, that he had been asleep for a long time now, and when would he wake up?

While he was pondering these matters, waiting for a change in his surroundings with a sort of patience his friends would never have believed him capable of, he noticed that the nearby rhythm of breathing, which had been steady until now, changed. A moment later, he heard the shift of fabric, the almost inaudible creak of a mattress as its occupant sat up.

"Morning, Nina," he said. It came out only as a whisper, after a few soundless tries, and it made his throat protest.

"Hi there," reached his ears next. There was some movement, then the slight sag of his mattress as Nina sat down next to him. There were fingers running through his scalp, and though he instinctively tried to flinch back at the touch, he was no more mobile than a rag doll… and he found a moment later, it was good that he hadn't moved away; it felt _nice_. Soothing, like. "I thought you'd sleep longer."

"'M awake," he confirmed. He still couldn't manage anything over a whisper, but either she read lips or she read minds, because she laughed a little. He quite liked that laugh, it made her feel closer, somehow, even if he was enshrouded in darkness.

"Does it hurt anywhere?" came next, and Sirius found himself doing a bit of an inward assessment.

"Not much," he decided after a moment spent trying to sift through the aches and pricks.

"Good. Can you see anything yet?"

"No… nothing."

"Madam Pomfrey said you would, soon," Nina said encouragingly.

Sirius wasn't sure if that was working out; he could, if anything, see even _less_ than before, but he didn't have the heart to complain about it to her. "So don't worry too much about it, yeah? Here, I'll help you drink something, you look parched." There was a sound of water being poured, and a moment later, he was being helped to drink. It was a warm sort of tea, he noted. It felt amazing on his throat, surprisingly soothing and refreshing.

"What are you doing here?" It was more than a whisper this time; the rasp was all but gone from his voice after a few sips.

"Looking after you, of course. Mrs. Potter is at Hogwarts, and I've seen how you are with uncle Angus, so I thought, why not do you both a service?"

"Thanks," said Sirius, though he was a bit confused as to what she meant.

"It's gladly done. Besides, Dal Riada is dead dull when I'm by myself."

"I can't promise any improvement on that count."

"You're joking, right?" Nina said at once. Sirius shook his head for an answer, and immediately regretted it; it hurt. "At least here, I have something to do."

"Like what?"

"I can entertain you, for example. We can watch Muggle telly — I'll describe what's going on and everything — or I can read to you, or, you know, help you with anything you need."

" _Anything_ I need?" he echoed.

"Of course."

"What if I have to go to the loo?" Sirius wondered, grinning, though he suddenly realised that couldn't really remember having had to _go_ for ages. What was up with _that_?

Nina laughed, distracting him from his wandering thoughts.

"Okay, that's where you'll be on your own. I have to draw the line somewhere."

"Great," Sirius replied, "I don't even know where the loo _is_."

"I guess we'll burn that bridge when we need to cross it," Nina answered sagely, and he could hear some clinking and uncorking and pouring. "Let's get started with your morning potions, shall we?"

"It's morning?" Sirius asked.

"Yes, but you're not missing much," Nina told him. "The sea looks all stormy, and this place might be nice in the Summer, but all I can see are miles of deserted, half-frozen beach, and a handful of people outside, who look like they'd rather be anywhere _but_ out there. It looks even colder than Scotland."

"What day is it?" Sirius asked next. He really didn't have a clue, and how long had he been out?

"The twenty-ninth, you only slept for a few hours. Mrs. Potter said to tell you that she'll be back soon, with James."

This made Sirius' eyes widen in surprise.

"They're bringing him here?"

"Yes," Nina confirmed, fiddling around with bottles and glasses. "As soon as he can travel. They meant for it to be a surprise, but she figured after last night, you'd better know what's going on."

"What happened last night?"

"You don't remember?"

"I guess not." All he could recall were confused voices, and smoke…

"Sirius, _really_?" said Nina, and was she _grinning_? Her voice sounded like she was grinning. He decided that she was, because that was one image he could recall quite easily. It was branded into his brain. "You blasted like, _all_ the windows in the kitchen."

"I…" he frowned, confused now. This, he couldn't picture at vaguely recalled what he now knew was his arrival by Floo to the Potters' house, but he couldn't remember doing magic; he could only remember wanting to get up, to move…

"And you also upended the kitchen counter and tore down the shelves. Uncle Angus spent half the night fixing everything." And what could he say to _that_?

"Whoops."

Nina snickered at his deadpan tone. "It's all good," she said bracingly. "It freaked everyone out, and Aunt Jeanie was all flustered, because she couldn't believe you could move enough to do all that. Neither could I, really."

"I thought it was…" he swallowed dryly, "y'know. Death Eaters."

"I could tell," she said, startling him again when her fingers ran comfortingly through his hair. "But there's no Death Eaters here."

"Are you sure?" he asked, though he knew that was no lie. His nose wasn't idle, neither were his ears.

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Did you check under the bed?"

"And the closet," she confirmed, adding, "I'll have to help you sit up a little. Bear with me, I think your potions are running out." Her arms wrapped around him. Sirius felt his heart skip a beat, even as his head lolled forward and his face planted itself on her shoulder.

 _Hm_. This wasn't half bad, was it?

No, he decided, he quite liked this.

Except, his back flared up at once. Everything was suddenly hurting, and his leg, ye _gods_ — Sirius bit back a wince, but it didn't really work out.

"Sorry, it'll be just a moment," Nina said at once, adjusting him against what felt like a wall of pillows, and the next moment, his lips met with glass. He downed the potion she was offering, and found she hadn't been lying. His every ache was suddenly gone. Sirius let out a shuddering sigh, closing his eyes. He felt very tired all of a sudden, and the ever-present blackness wasn't helping him stay awake.

"Uncle Angus said you wouldn't be able to move for a couple of days," came next, after she made sure he was perfectly comfortable again. "And arriving by Floo didn't really help either. They had to get you out of Hogwarts, though. The Ministry were looking for you, and there was no time to prepare. I'm sure I'd have done the same in your place— waking up like that can't have been fun."

It hadn't been fun at all, now he thought back on it.

"It's over now, though," he assured her. Or himself, he couldn't really tell.

"We still have to get you all better. Pomfrey came over at dawn, she said it was a narrow shave, Flooing you out."

Sirius would have shrugged if he could; all he could think of was how grateful he was to the Potters, and to the lengths they had gone to help him. He really was lucky.

"Was he really there?" Nina wanted to know, once more pulling him from his brooding before it really started.

"They all were," he answered quietly. "I kept thinking… I kept thinking I wouldn't make it out of there." Which he wouldn't so readily admit to just anyone, but it was out before he could bite it back.

"You nearly didn't, Sirius." For all that her voice was soft, he couldn't miss the worry coating her words. There was a touch on his cheek, as she brushed it with her thumb. It sent frissons down his spine. "I'm just… amazed, and thankful that you made it out at all."

"That makes two of us," he admitted.

"Why did you go back, though?" she asked. "Mr. Potter said that you got him out of the house, and then went back to face them."

"They'd have found us," Sirius replied. He hadn't really given this any thought, during the five or so minutes he'd been awake since the attack. "And I thought—"

"Which is debatable…"

"Well, it seemed like a sound plan at the time," Sirius argued with a smile. "I really couldn't think of anything else, and I needed them all gathered around for it to work… and like, distracted so it could take hold. So I thought… I thought that if they were focused on me, they wouldn't notice they were inside the apparition block."

"How did you get away?"

"Same spell," Sirius told her. "I just had the ground spit me out a little further away, before it swallowed them all. James said it was stupid."

"I won't argue with his sound logic," she replied, making Sirius chuckle in defeated amusement. "I also can't say it doesn't look amazing. There's a picture in the paper, which I'll describe later," she promised. "Just don't make a habit out of it, yeah? I like you better when you're getting _me_ into trouble and riding moat monsters."

"Making you reek of old shrimp does sound like a better use of my time," Sirius agreed.

Nina laughed, "Well, maybe not that bit, but I'm sure that when you're better, we can give Nessie another go." And thus, the subject was changed. It felt like a big fat storm cloud had just dissipated overhead. Nina summoned an extra pillow to cushion his head and hold it in place. "There, that's the best I can do. Are you comfortable?"

"With you here? Sure."

"I meant on the bed, silly."

"That, too." It was no lie; he was melting into the pillows, and feeling very warm and heavy.

"Good, because now, you have another dozen-odd potions to take before your breakfast."

"I'm all yours, my fair lady."

.

* * *

.

Going back to Hogwarts was harder than he'd thought. The adrenaline rush he'd felt upon being hand-picked by the Dark Lord to be part of the Death Eaters had vanished upon receiving the Dark Mark.

It wasn't a tattoo, after all. It was a brand that made the soul ache so deeply, he'd nearly passed out.

After the ceremony, he'd been given a set of black robes and a silver mask shaped like a skull, which he was supposed to wear for meetings and assignments. Then he'd been sent home, using a different route from the one he'd taken to come to the Dark Lord's house. Since he couldn't apparate, Severus had been handed over from Death Eater to Death Eater at least in five different towns across the country.

Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange were the last ones to pick him up, and they were supposed to take him to Hogsmeade, from where he was supposed to make his own way to the school. It was nearly morning, and Severus felt the bitter predawn cold under his cloak.

Only, they _didn't_ take him to Hogsmeade.

When they apparated, Severus found himself standing on the edge of a cliff, which was being battered by ten-foot waves. The back of his neck prickled in sudden alarm.

"What is this place?" he asked, turning to look at them. Bellatrix grinned at him. Neither wore masks, unlike the other Death Eaters who had taken him across the country.

"Just a rest stop, little Sevvie," she giggled.

Severus felt a pang of dread, so strong he didn't even bristle at the name she'd just called him. Still, he said, "I'd rather get some rest in my bed in Slytherin."

"Oh, you _will_ ," Rodolphus crooned. "After we have had our little chat."

"Well, get on with it," Severus said, trying hard to sound impatient. "I'd like to be back before daybreak."

"I wouldn't worry about the time if I were you," Rodolphus warned. " _You_ didn't care about the time when you put the Portkey on Narcissa and left her stranded in Godric's Hollow."

"She had it coming," Severus countered arrogantly. He had just been chosen by the Dark Lord himself, how _dared_ they?

This was the wrong thing to say.

"Allow us to educate you about _my_ _family_ , little Sevvie," said Bellatrix. Her grin had become a threat in and of itself, and her tone no less so. "You vex one of us, and you will get _all_ of us."

"She insulted me and my family!" Severus snapped.

"Your blood isn't pure enough to be insulted by such things, she merely pointed out the obvious. Even if it were, you must learn one thing about the Death Eaters, since you are one of us now, little Sevvie," Bellatrix crooned. "We do not betray each other. Not without consequence."

"I'll bear that in mind," Severus said, paling despite himself. The Lestranges had been advancing steadily in on him, and he was acutely aware of the cliff side at his back. He was soaked in sea spray.

"Oh, of that we are certain," said Bellatrix. She drew her wand, twirled it between her fingers. "This, I am sure you will remember. _Crucio_!"

Severus shrieked in sudden torment, not having expected this at all— stupid of him, certainly, but he'd thought he'd be safe from the nastier curses at least.

Clearly, he'd been wrong.

Being wrong hurt like _hell_.

That was one thing he vowed he would remember.

* * *

The next thing he knew, he was on the floor in the Slytherin common room, and people were stepping over him on their way to classes.

"Get out of the way, Snape," said one voice; he couldn't tell if it was a boy or a girl who had spoken.

"Merlin, Snape— what the hell are you doing there?" said another.

Severus grunted something unintelligible, which was meant as a curse on whoever had been speaking; as it were, he couldn't really even speak, never mind get out of the way.

A hand packed him by the collar of his robes, and he opened his eyes blearily, to fix them on Herbert Bulstrode, a Seventh Year Prefect, who scowled at him and hauled him to his bed.

"I'll let Slug know you're not feeling very well," he said in his deep voice, looking him over knowingly. "That way at least we won't lose any points. Next time you get _drunk_ , don't do it on a school night."

Severus' head was spinning, and there was not one inch of him that didn't ache or twitch or jerk out of its own accord. He was obviously not drunk, but that was apparently the official story.

Severus groaned something out, which neither he nor Bulstrode could make out, and the older boy covered him with a blanket and took his leave, telling him to, "Sleep it off. Narcissa wants to see you tonight."

 _Oh, joy_ , Severus thought sarcastically, but that's as far as his thoughts went. The next moment, he was out of it again.

.

* * *

.

He leaned against the doorway for a few moments, watching Sirius with Angus' niece.

The boy still looked like death rewarmed, he was completely blind, and they'd been worrying how to deal with that, but Coop saw that with Nina here, they probably didn't need to concern themselves overmuch; he hadn't ever seen Sirius this at ease with someone other than James and his close friends, so he didn't interrupt them.

Besides, it looked like the time alone was giving them something they both desperately, and perhaps, even unknowingly, needed. This was maybe the second time he'd seen the girl smile, and Sirius only smiled when he was around James. Angus was right, it was as if they'd known each other for years; they trusted each other implicitly, which was a rarity these days.

Coop had had a long night, but he found that their every effort had been worth it. Angus had given him an earful earlier, telling him that Sirius had nearly blasted the entire kitchen to splinters upon arrival, in what he was calling a panic attack of epic proportions. But there just hadn't been any time to forewarn anyone, least of all Sirius himself, and Coop wasn't sure if it would have made any difference.

Sirius had _changed_ , and if anything, his survival instinct had sharpened beyond measure. A part of him was, even now, alert to the slightest sound, the tiniest shift in the air. He could see it, even incapable of movement and looking like a strong breeze would take him down, Sirius was sounding out the world, waiting for another attack.

Not unlike a watchdog; it didn't strike Coop as funny.

Nina was giving him the potions Poppy had left this morning, which would mellow him down enough to actually rest. They were a necessity at this point, even though most of his broken bones had been mended, there was so much inner damage caused by the curses that keeping him sedated and all but paralysed was the only viable option.

"Who's there?" Sirius asked abruptly, making Coop — and Nina — give a small jump. "Mr. P, is that you?"

"How did you know?" Coop asked, stepping inside.

"I thought I caught a whiff. Are you all right?" Sirius turned slowly, but being unable to see him, he was addressing the window. Coop smiled at Nina, choosing to sit on the other side of Sirius' bed and taking his hand. It felt cold to the touch.

"Thanks to you, never better."

"I didn't do anything."

"James is right, you know. You're a terribly bad liar."

"Poops did all the work, I'm pretty sure I had nothing to do with your current state."

"You got one of the snake's venom sacs," Coop corrected. "She mixed it with an antidote, and I was good as new almost at once."

"So you don't look like a rainbow trout anymore? Does he look green and yellow and blue and things, Nina?"

"No," she said, sounding disappointed but grinning at Coop. "He looks, you know, normal. All boring pink and white."

" _Rainbow trout_ , you cheeky monkey?" Coop feigned an affronted tone. Sirius' smile grew wider.

"One left out to dry. You were even _flopping,_ " he replied, now speaking in Coop's general direction. It was so strange to look at; Coop had been dreading how Sirius would be upon waking, as had they all. None had bet on him being in a good mood; they all had expected that he'd be paranoid, disoriented, afraid, even, especially now that his head injury had worsened and left him completely blind.

Coop was thankful that he was much improved in that regard, but it was still hard to trust it would last.

"I was _not_ , was I?"

Sirius just grinned at the world for an answer. "How's James?" he asked next.

"He was still sleeping when I came home a little while ago, but he is much better. Poppy believes that when he wakes up, he'll be well enough to come here."

"Today? That's _brilliant_."

"Yes, I'm expecting to pick him up around lunchtime, but he's been sleeping about as much as you, so it might be later. I also brought you this," Coop answered, raising Sirius' hand and pressing the Two-Way Mirror into it. "Remus has the other one," he explained, "and he and Peter are in class, but they promised to call you as soon as they are free. Something about a game of chess and a rematch, I believe."

"Thanks, Mr. P," Sirius' smile had gone even wider at the mention of his friends.

"I'll get a chess set ready," Nina offered at once. "And I'll bring you your incredibly tasty breakfast."

"Roast beef?" Sirius asked hopefully, addressing the spot she had just vacated. She was busy gathering up the empty vials and beakers onto a tray.

"I think it's porridge. _Watery_ porridge at that. I know how much you _love_ that."

Sirius cut a grimace at the menu, but then seemed to have an idea, if his hopeful, "With bits of beef in it?" was an indication.

"You're just disgusting sometimes, Sirius Black," came from the door. "Really, _yuck_."

"It tastes great," he assured her.

"I'll see what I can do."

"Now you're just showing off."

Nina's laughter rang to them from the stairs.

"How are you feeling lad?" Coop asked what was on the forefront of his mind.

"I'm not. I mean… Everything was hurting before, but now I can't feel a thing. It's like I'm only half here."

"I should think it better than the alternative."

"Me as well. But it's _weird_. I'm not even sure if I've got my eyes open half the time."

"Poppy said you'll be like this for a few more days," Coop told him. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you more."

"You were passed out in the bushes, Mr. P," Sirius replied, knowing full well what he had meant. "It's a miracle you managed that one spell." Sirius chuckled. "Did you see his _face_ when it hit?"

"No, son. I didn't."

"Well, it was like he never saw it coming." Sirius sounded very satisfied with that particular memory. "Neither did I, really. You couldn't have timed it better. Did they catch him?"

"He got away when they took down the anti-apparition wards," Coop shook his head, "as did most of his followers. They did manage to grab five, though," he added.

"Only _five_?" Sirius asked in disbelief and not a little disappointment. His reaction was quite the opposite of what the general public had thought upon hearing the news. Even Alastor had believed it a cause for celebration.

"That's five more than they've caught since the elder Yaxley was sent to Azkaban in November," Coop told him mildly.

"Yeah, but there were _fifty-odd_ of them there," Sirius argued in the same disbelieving tone. "Not to mention the Lord _Thingy_. All trapped without a way out." He heaved a sigh, shook his head with a defeated chuckle. Coop understood what was meant by it, but decided not to carry on that vein; had the Aurors only been a tad more careful, the war could have been ended right then and there.

"You know, that's a much better name than You-Know-Who," he commented instead.

Sirius smiled at his covers, "At least this way we _do_ know who."

"You're something of a hero back home, you know," Coop informed Sirius a moment later. Sirius, whom he had been helping to drink more tea, frowned in confusion, and Coop elaborated. "The Death Eaters were there in such numbers because they planned on razing the entire village. You stopped that from happening, son."

"But _how_ —"

"Oh, Pellinore saw you do the deed."

" _Gah_ , _Pellinore_? He's such a loudmouth." Sirius seemed to come to another conclusion right after, though. "Are you in trouble, Mr. P? For, you know, hiding me in your house?"

"Yeah, some," Coop admitted, patting Sirius' hand comfortingly and knowing that, however upsetting the news, Sirius would rather know what was going on, than be kept in the dark.

After all that had happened of late, he had vowed never to dismiss Sirius' fears as imaginary again, and he had decided, he would show him the same courtesy he had been given, and never lie to this boy. Coop knew better than to treat him like a child; Sirius had lost that part of him, irretrievably so. And Coop, for all his long years, had not learnt the art of diplomacy, half truths and vague answers. He knew they were both more comfortable getting things out in the open.

"Bagnold believed my story; I told them that you had woken me up moments before the Death Eaters arrived," he replied.

"But she doesn't know I was a couple of rooms down?" Sirius guessed rightly, now addressing the foot of his bed.

"I might have forgotten to specify where you came from exactly, but being asleep and all, how could I know?"

" _Smooth_ , Mr. P." Sirius said appreciatively.

"Barty Crouch though, is convinced you're a deranged killer."

"Really, _him_?" Sirius groaned. "He'll never say anything good about any Black. He _hated_ my father."

"He's the one still looking to imprison you, son. We need to prepare for when you go back, because he'll want you in Azkaban even if you haven't done anything wrong."

Sirius swallowed, looking apprehensive for a moment, but then his expression shifted. There was a set to it Coop had never seen before; like he was steeling himself for something nasty. Sirius' next question was an obvious one, "Will I? Go to prison?" His tone, however, held no dread at all. If he had asked whether he'd have to go to a class he disliked, he might have poured more emotion into it.

"Not if we can help it. Pellinore and his big mouth will do some good this time. He talked to the press, and they're turning you into a hero, and your dog's head into a beacon. They're calling it the Bark Mark."

"The Bark Mark," Sirius laughed, "it has a ring to it."

"Yes, it does. And it will also be incredibly helpful with the Wizengamot," Coop assured him. "Crouch is still at Hogwarts as we speak, interrogating schoolchildren and trying to find you in the castle. That'll keep him busy for a while, and there's no way he'll know you're here, but when you do go back and he gets the chance to interrogate you — and he _will —_ you must be ready for it. He'll want to give you Veritaserum."

"But then I'll blurt _everything_ out!" Sirius erupted, suddenly alarmed. He hadn't expected that, it was clear to the old wizard. "And what about _Alfie_ then? What about _you_?"

"We've talked it over," Coop replied, offering Sirius some more calming tea. "There is no way you could be charged with murder, and therefore, we wouldn't be charged with harbouring a criminal. Besides, the Dark Side already know where you've been staying, so we won't lie about it when the time comes. As for Alfie… There are ways to channel the effects of the potion. You cannot lie when under Veritaserum, but you can tell the truth in such a way that you still don't give everything away," Coop informed, aware that he had Sirius' full attention. "Angus and I will help you with that when you are better."

"Okay," Sirius said with a nod and a deep, steeling breath. "I hope it works."

"You and me both, lad."

"I did better than porridge," Nina's voice announced happily from the door, a steaming bowl in her hands and a chess set under her arm. "I got you… _beef broth_."

"With bits of beef in it?" Sirius asked, perking up as though the previous topic hadn't even existed.

"You're not allowed any solid food yet," she reminded him, sitting down and getting everything sorted. Sirius' expression became bemused, and a little disappointed. Coop knew he only liked soup if it was like, ninety-nine percent meat and one percent water. Stew he loved, but anything else... "But I went around it a little and added some icky-looking bone marrow, I know you like that stuff," Nina added brightly. Sirius' face broke into a grateful smile, as she helped him eat.

"Would you marry me?" he asked abruptly.

It was maybe good that Sirius couldn't see a thing, Coop decided between guffaws, because he was addressing the Holyhead poster on the wall opposite.

And Nina was red as a cherry tomato.

But she said yes, why not, she had always had a thing for cripples… With the same sort of besotted smile Sirius was wearing on his face.

Coop decided to leave them to it; there was much to be done before James came home, and he would also have to let his future in-laws know.

To get the wedding planned and such.

.

* * *

.

James opened his eyes to the now familiar whiteness of the Hospital Wing. He wasn't sure why he'd woken; for once he'd had a good sleep, unmarred by nightmares or aches.

All around it was silent, and when he focused on Sirius, all he got from him was that he was asleep. Not even his parents were here.

The welcome committee, though, was surprisingly better than even that.

Lily Evans was sitting on a chair by his bed, reading the Daily Prophet. Surprising as this was, James' heart leapt at the sight, which was as yet, blurry as anything. He blinked, raising a leaden hand to rub his eyes, while the other groped for his spectacles.

"Hi, James," Lily looked up from her paper, coming closer and looking worried. James smiled back wanly, putting his glasses on.

"Hullo," he said thickly. "What are you doing here?"

"Covering for Madam Pomfrey," was the answer. "I wanted to come yesterday, but," Lily helped him sit up, fluffed up his pillows, then perched on his bedside. "I did rounds instead… I covered for Remus, that's why I didn't come sooner. How are you feeling? Is there anything I can get you?"

"I'm okay," James assured her, despite the fact that he felt achy and thirsty and his midriff was starting to sting. He didn't care about that right now, though, because _Lily Evans_ was sitting on his bed, and they were _alone_. If he weren't about as mobile as a fried slug, and if he had but an armful of freshly-cut hay to roll around in, this would be a very inspiring moment.

 _Very_.

"Madam Pomfrey said to give you these," Lily added, gesturing at some potions on his bedside table. "It's only two, one's a painkiller and the other is a restorative."

While James let her play nurse on him — while enjoying it entirely too much — Lily filled him in on what he'd missed while he was asleep. According to her, there were so many things going on it was hard to keep track of them all.

"People are looking for the Hogwarts Slasher," she told him, tipping the painkilling potion into his mouth. "Do you remember anything about who attacked you?"

James shook his head, "I wish I could, but all I remember was walking down a corridor, and the next moment I woke up here."

"Everyone is nervous about it," Lily told him, now uncorking the second potion. "The Muggleborn students especially." She sounded worried. "And the Aurors all over the castle aren't helping…"

"Aurors?" James echoed, now quite worried himself. "When did _that_ happen?"

"Last night," she answered. "They're looking for Sirius… and the Slytherins, you know, his cousin Narcissa, and Severus, they jumped on it and are telling anyone who'd listen that he's the Hogwarts Slasher."

James groaned, "Gah, not _again_. Is everyone making up stories all over?"

"You should hear some of the theories," Lily said with a smile. "Can't really make heads or tails of some of them, they're each crazier than the last, and having the Aurors here, searching every inch of the castle… it isn't really helping."

James heaved a sigh. He felt rather tired all of a sudden.

"However… if it's any consolation, people don't really seem to believe them. Not after the paper yesterday, or today's one. Owens is also riling everyone up."

"What do you mean?"

"Enfys Owens? You know, the Ravenclaw girl in Second Year?" Lily told him. James shrugged, mystified. He knew the Owenses, they lived in Godric's Hollow, and were generally known as the gossip squad. "Yeah, you wouldn't know, would you? Anyway, she's telling anyone who'll listen that Sirius was in Godric's Hollow, that he saved the village. She says that people there saw him, just like the paper said. Is that true?"

"Yeah," James admitted. "My Dad said… He said that he did."

"He's not dead, is he?"

James shrugged. It was his cue to deny any knowledge on the matter, but it felt _bad_ to lie to Lily; as bad as it felt to lie to Remus and Peter; he didn't answer outright, looked down at his bedspread instead. His stomach felt like he'd swallowed acid.

"I'm just worried," Lily explained softly. She sounded sincere. "For him and you both."

"That makes two of us," James answered, in the same quiet tone. "Cheers." He took the vial of potion she was offering him, and downed it in a few swigs. It tasted _delicious_. Like freshly-cut grass.

James felt a tingling, strengthening sensation wash over him, but it did little to assuage the roiling feeling in his stomach, brought about by what she was saying; of all people in this school, he'd never believed Lily Evans would give a care for him, much less for _Sirius_.

For five-odd years, Lily had had a non-relationship with both of them. She'd always called James a toerag, and had nothing but contempt for Sirius, because of his name and what his cousins did to Muggleborns like her, never mind that Sirius and James had helped her out of a tight spot once or twice; she had often said, to Sirius' face no less, that she believed him to be just like the rest of them.

Sirius had shrugged it off, as he usually did when accused of being like the other Blacks. He hadn't gotten into a single fight about that since before Second Year; it had been an almost daily occurrence, until one day, he stopped throwing punches and started laughing it off, one more thing James wasn't quite sure how it had happened, but which had. However, Sirius had made a point of arguing with her, annoying her, or even pranking her as often as he could — minor stuff, on account that James adored her — and she had made a point of hexing him whenever she could. Always without consequence, of course.

On account that James loved her.

And he _did_ , he wasn't merely infatuated, he knew that. Sirius was acutely aware of it, because of their shared bond; even without it, Remus and Peter knew, because they never really mocked him for it. James just didn't know what to do with these feelings running rampant in his system, turning his thought process into mush.

Something had changed here… He just didn't know what.

Lily watched him in silence, taking the empty vial from him and turning the bottle around in her hands thoughtfully.

"Can I ask you a question?" she asked, breaking the silence. James looked up from his bedspread.

"I guess."

"Is Sirius in the castle?"

"Why would you say that?" James asked, mostly to buy himself some time to steel himself to do what he must and lie. At the same time, he was wondering… How much did she know, exactly? And how much had she figured out?

"It's weird," Lily said. "But I _swear,_ I heard him the other day."

" _What_?" James stared at her, thrown for a loop. Thankfully, she caught on and decided to explain.

"I stayed up late. I was actually waiting for you… I was hoping to see you," she said, without a hint of a blush. It made James' heart skip a beat and his stomach wiggle most pleasantly. "… and when you didn't arrive, I decided to turn in, and I saw Remus run out the Common Room, and _somehow_ , I'm _sure_ I heard Sirius' voice. He was telling him to hurry, that you were hurt in a corridor. I meant to follow, but… I didn't." Lily shrugged her shoulders helplessly. She was radiating worry and regret. James wasn't sure what to tell her.

"Then yesterday morning, I heard that you'd really gotten hurt, and that your parents were attacked and everything. I thought he had become a ghost. But then people were talking… they're all saying Sirius isn't dead, and now, there's Aurors all over the place, and today's _paper_..." Lily took a deep breath, shrugged. "Look, I know we've never gotten along, but… I never wished anything like this on him, or you. And… I kind of feel stupid now, for saying he was, like, half a Death Eater and all those things, because… he's clearly not. And… and if you are helping him, then I want to help too, however I can."

That too, was sincere. Much as he'd been on the receiving end of offers for help since he'd landed in hospital, it somehow meant so much more, coming from her. It made lying to her harder, but…

Could he really trust Lily not to tell _anyone_?

He'd made many mistakes in the recent past, especially where he'd listened to Dumbledore and left Remus and Peter out of a loop which they deserved to be clued in on, more than anyone… And though maybe in their eyes, she wouldn't be deserving of it, James believed she _could_ be trusted.

That didn't mean that he should just blurt Sirius' whereabouts to her, though.

Thankfully, he didn't have to answer either way.

His Mum poked her head in, breaking into a smile when she saw he was awake.

"Jamie!" she exclaimed, making him cringe.

At least she hadn't called him _Pumpkin_. That would just have been too much.

"Hello, Mrs. Potter," Lily said, getting up.

"Hi Lily, thanks for looking after our James," said Betty. In her arms, she was carrying a few parcels, the contents of which James could only guess at, and she gave them to Lily.

"No problem, Mrs. Potter. I was just bringing him the paper. Do you need some help with that?" Lily started unpacking the things, and James saw just then that they were… clothes.

Starting with a pair of pants.

With little _Snitches_ on them.

James cringed again, embarrassed as he saw Lily blush to the roots of her hair and giggle, holding his new underwear at arm's length with forefinger and thumb.

"How are you feeling, honey?" his Mum asked, smoothing out his fringe.

"Better, Mum," James answered, choosing to laugh instead of groaning.

"Good, because we're going home today. Your Dad's coming to pick you up in a little while."

 _Yesssss._ He was getting out of here.

"Awesome."

.

* * *

.

London's West End was, as usual, full of people, but for once, killing Muggles wasn't the reason for their gathering here.

He was standing on top of Marble Arch, ignored and unseen by all the Muggles hurrying about below. Voldemort clasped his hands behind his back, striding atop the Arch as though he owned the place; soon enough, he would. Fog shrouded him from view, but allowed him to see as far as he wished.

He had picked twelve locations, where his spies had confirmed that twelve people of interest would be tonight. Even if they weren't interesting at all, not to him. He could have picked twelve monkeys to kill, it would have had roughly the same effect.

The Arch was getting crowded, as forty-nine Death Eaters apparated next to him, taking their places to his left, to his right, in silence.

Voldemort and his followers moved cautiously, gingerly even — but this was the time to act; nobody would really think that they'd attempt a large-scale attack so soon after having been bested in Wales. Even if this wasn't really even going to be large-scale, it would _look_ that way.

Especially to the Death Eaters themselves.

It was for that very reason that he had decided to cut their recuperation time short. They could always crawl home to sleep it off later.

In fact, Voldemort mused, if this went well, he'd give them all the week off. He'd stop on a high note, leave his following feeling good about themselves before the next round of attacks, which would actually be _important_.

They were all tired, and they had felt weary for weeks; the situation with the Black brat had demoralised them all, and the surveillance operations he had some of his more junior Death Eaters engaged in were enough to go on by for now; there were, after all, only two: Blackpool and Hogwarts, and he had one student in charge, whom he was certain, would not let him down.

 _Yes_ , so he was staging these attacks only to keep his Death Eaters motivated.

The targets weren't exactly big game, just minor Ministry officials who hadn't been born into a pureblood family, which is why he had picked twelve (one for each month of the year, he'd told the Death Eaters, as though that held any kind of symbolism), and he wanted them all to be killed at midnight, with as much brouhaha and hullabaloo as they wished to use.

 _Go nuts_ , was the premise, and it would serve a dual purpose: His followers would be happy and feeling strong, and the London Wizards would freak out.

"Everyone's getting home," Bellatrix said, giggling in anticipation. "And we are all ready for the go-ahead, Master."

"Very well. As we discussed," Voldemort retorted pleasantly. "Do whatever pleases you, but by midnight, let the world know."

"Yes, Master." Forty-nine voices said it as one, and in a single bang that sounded like a car had backfired, they were gone.

Voldemort smiled thinly.

The things he had to do, ye Gods.

.

* * *

.

"You missed classes yesterday." Dumbledore hadn't even offered him tea this time.

"I told you I wasn't feeling very well," Severus answered, sounding — so he thought — steady and truthful.

"And yet, you did not go to Madam Pomfrey."

"I only needed to sleep." At least, that wasn't a lie.

"Indeed." The Headmaster watched him impassively. Severus made himself stare right back at him.

In the ensuing silence, Severus found his mind being probed and poked at, much more deeply than the Dark Lord had, when he stood before him; Dumbledore was reading his mind, he realised, and dread started creeping up his throat. He looked away.

"You need to learn how to lie better, if you want your mind to remain yours, Mr. Snape," Dumbledore told him. "What you have done, what you have done to _yourself_ , there is no turning back from it, do you realise that?"

"I don't know what you're talking ab—"

"As I said," Dumbledore's voice brooked no argument. "You need to learn to lie better."

A book landed on the desk, in front of him.

"Occlumency?" Severus asked, nonplussed.

"I know what you did," said Dumbledore. His voice was icy. His eyes didn't shine or twinkle as they usually did. "And I would have advised against it. Strongly."

"You think I can't do it?" Severus erupted hotly. He was just like everyone else, looking down on him because he was a Snape, not a Prince, not the heir to the Ninth High House, not worth—

"I never said that," said the Headmaster mildly.

"Then _what_ —"

"I believe you would _excel_ at it, this path you have chosen for yourself." Dumbledore spoke with utter certainty, but it made Severus' stomach boil and clench most unpleasantly. "I also believe you are not aware of the price you signed yourself up for."

"Respect?" Severus muttered angrily.

"That is the _prize_ you desire," Dumbledore corrected, as though they were in class. "The price you will _pay_ for it, however, it is a terrible one, and I am also certain that paying it is more than you are prepared for."

"So you'll help me?" Severus gestured at the book, incredulous.

"I am certain that we can... help _each other_ ," Dumbledore retorted, leaning back in his chair and watching him appraisingly. "Voldemort," he said, and Severus flinched as if struck, _"Voldemort_ will stop at nothing for power. He is loyal to nothing and no-one but himself, and he doesn't care who he tramples to achieve his goals. You may, as yet, believe that you have gone around that, that this alliance you set yourself up for will actually _help_ you," came next. "Alas, by the time you realise that what is asked of you is something you cannot, or will not want to, give, you will have no choice in the matter. Your soul will be lost."

"How do you know that?" Unwittingly, Severus gripped his left forearm. What Dumbledore was saying was true; he had felt the taint, the burning that went past his arm, cut so much deeper than skin; ever since he had been branded, it felt as though a Darkness far beyond what he'd ever felt or imagined was eating away at his _soul_.

And it hadn't stopped _hurting_. He was beginning to think it never would.

"I can see it in you," was the quiet answer. "I can see what it is _doing to you_ , Severus. And unless you learn to keep yourself in check, and soon, everyone else will see it too. Take the book, it is yours." The Headmaster gestured at the door. "At least do _something_ to remain whole, for as long as you can. He will show you no mercy, and he expects you to do the same to others."

"And you think I'm too weak to do it, is that it?" Severus snapped.

"Not at all," Dumbledore assured him again. "I do, however, believe that there is still hope for you. And I _am_ willing to help you, should you ask. Hogwarts will always be here for you, for as long as you need it. And so will I. You are dismissed, Severus. Do stop by the nurse before you collapse on your way to class."

.

* * *

.

" _Mum_! Can I have a snack?"

The sound echoed around the house, as it happened every so often lately.

James was _bored_.

Not just bored, he was _bored out of his wits_ sort of bored. What with Sirius asleep twenty hours of the day, and himself improving steadily, he had to let out his pent-up energy every chance that presented itself.

"Why don't you get up and get it yourself?" came a muffled voice from the next bed. James grinned at Sirius, who seemed to be having pillow for his breakfast. He thought it was high time they flipped him over, Sirius wasn't looking very comfortable like that.

"Dunno, I'm still all unsteady when I walk, it'll only make her mad. _Mum_!"

"I heard you the first time, honey," Betty called up from the kitchen.

"I bet they heard you over at the pier too," Sirius groused. James shrugged his shoulders, absently scratching the closing scabs on his front. "Honestly, you _could_ go easy on her."

"But I _am_ ," James argued. "It's not my fault that she leaves me here to bloody starve."

"She _doesn't_." Sirius muttered and moved his bandaged head to the side, slow as a turtle wading through peanut butter, while James watched him with a mild sort of interest. Gods, he was hungry. "You're just greedy."

"Maybe, but you should try her grass cakes. They're _addictive_."

" _Ugh_."

James laughed at his friend's expression of disgust. He might be a barrel of glowering sourness when he woke up, and he couldn't see worth a damn yet — just out his left eye, and mostly formless blurs — which was certainly bound to make anyone grumpy, and yes, so James was aware that his yelling wasn't helping his friend's sharply aching head, but hey, he'd _always_ been loud. It was just a fact of life.

"You really have no idea what's good," he stated, watching Sirius try to roll over onto his back without success. "Poops said you weren't supposed to move on your own," he reminded Sirius helpfully. He didn't want him to pull a muscle or something, after all.

"Get stuffed."

"Oh, someone's _grumpy_."

"Here you are, honey," his Mum said, upon entering. "Oh, no — Sirius, wait. You're not supposed to move by yourself. Let me help you—" she handed James a platter loaded with grass cakes. They had lemon frosting on them and smelled _heavenly_.

Sustenance for the show, _nice_.

"Cheers, Mum."

"I can manage, Mrs. P," Sirius gritted out.

"No you can't, honey. Hush."

"Yeah, hush, honey." James watched the afternoon's entertainment with satisfaction, his mouth full of grass and carrots with lemon frosting. _Delish_.

"Hush yourself," Sirius muttered, levelling a one-eyed glare at his friend, who only chewed on with a wide grin. In the end, of course, James' Mum won out, carefully helping Sirius turn onto his back and propping him up on a bunch of pillows.

"Here, drink this, it'll make you feel better," she said, helping him down one potion James knew tasted horrible, but made all manner of aches disappear. At least, _he_ always made a fuss when taking it, but there was his new brother, swallowing it down without so much as a grimace. James rolled his eyes. Really, what was _wrong_ with him?

Well, he amended.

A _lot_ was wrong.

But he _could_ be a bit less _stoic_ about it all, couldn't he? Were James in his shoes just now, he'd milk every last scrape and cut for all he was worth. Sirius, though, didn't even protest, not even a _little_ , not even when his Mum was cleaning out his cuts with those potions that James _knew_ now, stung like hell.

Not _once_.

He had a lot to learn, James thought, munching on his second cake. Maybe he'd start having some more sense when he was a little better.

Still, his Mum finished getting Sirius all set up, pumped him full of potions, gave him a kiss on the cheek, gave James one too, and promised to return with Sirius' breakfast and tea for them both.

"Only you get breakfast an hour before dinner," James informed his best friend, getting a vaguely amused snort for a response.

"I happen to _like_ breakfast. Best meal of the day."

"Is that why you get two of them?" James asked curiously. Sirius grinned in his general direction. Pain gone, mood improved. That's how it went with one Sirius Black. James also surmised that being able to actually see stuff through James' eyes was helping a lot there.

"What day is it?" Sirius wanted to know. He always asked, probably owing to the fact he was put to sleep with a heavy-duty potion each night. It helped with the nightmares, which were plaguing them both at first, but it made waking a nightmare in and of itself. He was all turned around whenever he woke, be it from actual sleep or one of his many naps, and James was inwardly grateful that he was no longer in this situation himself. At least he hadn't randomly passed out today at all.

That _had_ to be an improvement, or it would be if there were anything to _do_ around here. Even Nina had left today, on a visit to the Department of Mysteries. James couldn't wait for her to come back and tell them everything she'd seen, but for now…

"It's still the thirtieth," he replied in a bored drawl.

"What's news?" was the next question, every bit as predictable as the previous one.

"People are still freaking out about the twelve attacks in the West End the other day," James answered, deciding that he would have a third cake, after all. He'd just ask his Mum to make him more later. "Muggles are calling them bombings, but even they are having trouble explaining the Dark Marks away. Something about sewer gas or other, they come up with the silliest stuff."

"They never stop, do they?" Sirius asked thoughtfully, scrubbing a bandaged hand down his face. It wasn't really a question; and James knew Sirius wasn't talking about the Muggles, either.

James shook his head, "It's like the bastard is trying to make up for failing to hit the Hollow."

"Why the long faces?" James' Dad was carrying a tray with tea, followed by his Mum.

"The news," James answered, accepting and taking a sip from the proffered mug. "They're depressing."

"That will not change anytime soon," Coop told them, sitting on the edge of James' bed and patting his leg comfortingly. "Other than that, how are you lads feeling?"

"Better," they both chorused, and James added, "bored."

"Good. Not that you're bored, mind — but that _will_ change," said his Dad. "I got you boys these here," he added, producing a handful of heavy-looking books and putting a few on Sirius' bed table, a few on James'. "You see, I've been toying with this idea for a while, and I believe you're well enough to get started on it. I," he announced, "will teach you both some quality duelling, and your Mum will teach you about wards and defensive magic, before you go back to school."

"What?" James asked. He hadn't expected this turn of events at all. They were recuperating here! Convalescing! He had expected a game of gobstones, not _schoolwork_.

"We can't go on pretending there isn't a war out there," Betty said matter-of-factly. She was sitting on Sirius' bed, adjusting him to help him eat.

"And the latest developments have driven it home," his Dad continued. "We could all have been killed the other day, we nearly _were_ , and it would just be disingenuous to believe that the Dark Side will not try again."

James bit his lip, the trepidation that was constantly simmering under the surface flaring up in an instant.

"Do you think they'll come _here_?" James asked quietly.

Sirius snorted in surprise, and James could feel his friend's perplexity at what he saw as James' sheer _innocence_. He frowned at him, a bit affronted.

"What makes you think they _won't_?" Sirius' dispassionate statement hung in the air for a moment, and James' anxiety rose another notch.

"I… I didn't _mean_ —" James stammered. In truth, he was taken aback by Sirius' blunt reaction. Ever since he'd woken up, blind and mostly incapable of moving… his Dad said it best, it was like seeing a different person.

"We know," his Dad interrupted gently. "But Sirius is right, they won't stop trying to take any of us, and if they _do_ catch a hold of us, we must expect the worst. And we need to be prepared. Sirius, what you did at home was amazing, but it came at a great cost."

"It was just dumb luck," Sirius admitted, but his tone betrayed none of the emotion that was radiating through to James, clashing with James' own dread; Sirius was frightened as well, of course; he'd be a fool not to be. But he was determined, nay, _hell-bent_ not to let the Dark Side cow him again. He just didn't know how to do that any more than James did.

"James and I have you to thank for our lives; Betty as well; if you hadn't known about James, if she hadn't stayed at Hogwarts… I don't believe we would have made it out of the house alive."

"It was nothing," Sirius mumbled, and was he embarrassed by what he was hearing? _Guilty_? James felt his worry spike some more, just because it could.

Something was _very_ wrong here, but as so much else, now wasn't the time to drag that particular elephant out into the open. What they were discussing was more important.

"It wasn't nothing," Betty chided gently, pulling Sirius into a hug, which he all but slumped into. "But we can't carry on like this. I for one could do with a proper night's sleep again."

"I believe we all could," Coop concurred. "And that is why I got this here from Alastor. He isn't quite aware he loaned us the book, so I would urge you two to read it as soon as you can." James stared at the enormous volume, which his Dad pushed toward him.

"All of _that_?"

Coop shrugged one shoulder lightly. "It's time to get your cogs grinding, son," he said, smiling. "I have heard a great deal about your blood-bond of late, and I've also come to understand it much better."

James, and through him, Sirius, watched him closely, their full attention on the old wizard.

"You were both incredibly smart and amazingly talented even _before_ you cast that spell, it only stands to reason that your innate power went through the roof when you bonded yourselves together," his Dad said. "You passed other abilities to each other as well. Like, for instance, how you two manage to remember everything you come across, learn things by just reading them once? That's Sirius' total recall at work; and the ability to react faster than sight, that's yours, son. You're one in two bodies, and you must begin using that to your advantage. Your very lives depend on it now."

James didn't have any words to answer. He was too shocked.

"So, we'll train that bond," Coop went on, a fierce pride in his voice that neither boy missed. "And you both as well. Let Voldemort _try_ to get you. As long as you are together, he shall never manage." There was a confidence in the old wizard which carried over to them both, somehow. James could feel it dissipating his anxiety, Sirius' shame. They were both instantly, wordlessly, all for it.

"So what do you want us to do, Mr. P?"

"I wasn't joking when I said Alastor wasn't aware I borrowed his book. It's the one he's using to train the Hit Wizards. You have until tomorrow evening to finish it, and don't just _skim_ it. Read every word, learn every spell. You won't get a chance to go over the material again."

"But _Dad_ —" James started, scandalised.

"That's over five hundred pages," Sirius said appraisingly, looking at the book through James' eyes, "give or take a hundred."

"So? Share the information, take turns reading — Sirius, I know you can see through James," was the lighthearted answer. "If we want to be ready next time, you need to be _sharp_ , and you need to stay on point. This is where we begin, and really, you might get away with this at school to make time for your pranking, but we need to save time here. Therefore, the same rule will apply to all of these," he gestured at the other tomes on their tables. "Sirius already started on the element spellbook and the one on battle magic the other day, so he can just catch you up on those, and," Coop waved his wand, and a trunk filled with knick-knacks waddled heavily into the room, parking itself at the foot of James' bed. "This is for you to work with, if you want to try some spells out."

"What happened to 'no magic in the house'?" James asked.

"That rule went out the window when that bastard strolled into our living room."

" _Wicked_." Sirius grinned.

"Just don't turn the roof into jell-o again," Betty advised, smiling. "Come on, Sirius, eat up. James can get started on the reading for you both."

"Poppy said she would come over in a little while, she's got something for your eyes. You should be good to finish the book before Alastor notices," Coop added.

"Alright."

That was all Sirius said.

James wanted to argue some more, but something stopped him. He felt _better_ , somehow, and it wasn't just Sirius' sense of purpose what swayed him from wanting to argue and carry on oozing like a sloth in the sun. His parents were right, the only way they could survive was if they could fight the Dark Side, if they knew what to do.

So he nodded, took a bite out of his grass cake, and opened the _Hit Wizard's Guidebook_.

.

* * *

.

"That should take care of our Jamie's boredom," Coop said with a grin, closing the door behind them and drawing his exhausted wife into his arms. Betty laughed.

"And of his calls for something or other every five minutes, too," she replied. "Honestly, though, I thought it was a bit harsh." Upon seeing her husband's enquiring look, she elaborated. "Giving them _one_ day to read that paving slab of a book and learn the spells? In their _condition_?"

"I've made a copy in case they don't learn them all," Coop told her easily. "But it's best if they don't know that. They _do_ need to learn how to use their bond to their advantage, and now is the perfect time for it."

"Yes, but they can hardly sit up on their own, love."

"Poppy told me Sirius needs to keep his mind engaged to fully heal from that fracture. She suggested giving him comic strips, like _Martin Miggs_ when she fixes his eyes later, but I believe that this is better. It will give them some tools to fight back, before they have time to let the fear set in deeper than it already has. Besides," he added shrewdly, "I _miss_ you. They _are_ usually at school, this time of year."

"Oh yes, and _we_ could be at the theatre," Betty sighed mock-wistfully.

"Well, the theatre may be out, but I hear there's a film on ITV at quarter past six, and I have a bottle of father's aged red wine."

"Ooh, the _Italian_? You _do_ know how to show a girl a good time," Betty replied laughing, and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Okay, we'll do it your way. Just promise me one thing."

"Name it, it's yours."

"Don't work them too hard."

"I won't, not _too_ hard," Coop promised. "But we can't keep treating them like children either; what happened since the Yule… they're both being pushed into growing up, too much in too short a time, and I'd like to see them do so where we can help them cope."

"Maybe, but they're still over half kids, and they need a break and lots of care. Don't make them lose their capacity for wonder."

"Don't worry, I won't."

.

* * *

TBC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: James and Sirius learn new tricks and (if they behave, they'll also return to school), Nina and Angus fight a lot, Sirius has his first family argument, Voldemort gives his Death Eaters a holiday, and there's a wickerwork lady traipsing about the house for some odd reason.  
> Other Note: Okay, the fic's all caught up, so there won't be daily updates anymore. I'll post chapters on here as I finish them, but feel free to comment on what's posted.


	17. Imbolc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: The boys work hard and learn new things, but James did it again and didn't let me send him to school. Instead, we get a glimpse into how old magic works, Angus and Nina argue a lot, Coop plans to word a letter, and there's visits and Sirius makes James' Mum angry. And James. And Coop. Scary stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own HP, or Sirius or James or even Coop. Because I'm good like that.

 

 

* * *

**Part Seventeen: Imbolc**

* * *

.

Where the last month had been the longest of his life, the past couple of days seemed to Coop as though they had flown by. James and Sirius were improving at last; maybe the fact that they were all actually getting some sleep now had something to do with it, but whatever the case, he was very satisfied with the results so far.

Angus had said that he believed Sirius would be able to come downstairs for the Imbolc Eve feast tonight, and maybe he'd even manage to stay awake for the bonfire they'd stacked on the beach front for later.

It helped that since the dreadful wave of attacks on the twenty-ninth, the Dark Side seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth. Certainly, neither wizard was inclined to believe that it would last, but they were taking full advantage of the lull in battles and dire news; even if this had meant a redoubled search for Sirius, Crouch was so far off the mark it wasn't even a cause for concern just now. The Head of the MLE was combing the Forbidden Forest, of all things!

He and Angus were sitting on the back porch of the house, having a drink and enjoying the view of the beach and the quiet of what they'd started looking at as their mid-morning break. The boys and Nina would be busy studying until lunch, and, aside from the racket coming in waves from their room as they tested the spells they were learning, everything was peaceful and oh, so _quiet_.

Coop took a swig from his drink with satisfaction, watching a few gulls stalk around on the beach, the silence only broken by Angus, who was fiddling with strips of dragonhide, fabric and leather.

He wouldn't tell Coop what he was making, but it had involved several very smelly potions yesterday, and a few score spells Coop hadn't ever heard about. He couldn't deny he was curious, but Angus kept mum about what he was making.

"So, Nina issued an ultimatum last night," the head of Mysteries commented, breaking the silence. Coop raised an eyebrow. "She said she doesn't want to argue anymore, so she shan't, and that she'll go to Hogwarts before March at the _latest_. She gave me her book list and everything."

"Took her long enough," Coop commented easily, taking another sip of his tea. Angus snorted in defeat, lighting his pipe.

"I wonder where she managed to get a hold of a Hogwarts Fifth Year book list," he muttered.

"Kids these days," Coop grinned. "They work in mysterious ways."

"Ach, away wit' ye an' boil yer heid," Angus muttered, waving Coop off. "She wants to go to Hogwarts, _no matter what_ ," he added, frustrated, "and it's as if she doesn't care for her safety. She insists that she'll be okay, that nothing's going to happen, as if she could know."

It was an ongoing battle between the two of them, and everyone in the household had heard them at it — Nina arguing to go to Hogwarts, Angus arguing against it. Neither was giving an inch, and while at first they both had reasoned why they stood by their decision, it had now boiled down to a Yes — No argument. Kind of like toddlers.

Like Sirius said when he first heard them at it, it was Scottish stubbornness at its finest, but Coop suspected that the boys had already placed bets as to who'd win this particular battle. And according to Sirius, the winner's name didn't start with an A.

"Let her, then," Coop suggested, yet again, feeling like a broken record. "She's a quick learner, like the lads. They can take care of themselves, and her, at school."

"Och, I dinneken," was the exasperated answer. "I just don't want anything to happen to her again. She still gets the nightmares, and late nights… she's struggling here."

"And yet, she'll overcome it. She's not made of glass, and…"

"Aye, and she's spoken for, eh?"

They both laughed. Of all the silly stuff that had been leaving Sirius' mouth lately, that certainly took the laurels.

"I meant to say, she won't be alone," said Coop evenly. "Only last night Sirius said he'd personally look after her if you do let her go, no matter if she's not Sorted into Gryffindor."

"Did he now?" Angus' indigo eyes sparkled, with amusement, or endearment, Coop couldn't tell.

"Oh yes, he gave me his personal guarantee that he and his friends would be on the lookout and make sure she's okay, all day, every day."

"That's a bold promise."

"He solemnly swore."

"Ooh, an oath," Angus chuckled. "That makes it all the bolder."

"His exact words," Coop confirmed, smiling. "We really ought to plan that wedding."

"Aye, it's never too soon to start. Although, I believe that we _really_ ought to talk to them about the birds and the bees first," came next, and Coop choked on his tea, spewing it everywhere.

Angus grinned, turning to his project after. The silence was restored for a few moments, during which Coop decided he'd let Minerva handle the birds and the bees, because he was sure he _couldn't_. Not with his boys; he knew how they could get, and what were Heads of Houses for, if not that sort of stuff?

He'd write to her as soon as James was ready to go back.

"How's the groom faring, then? I haven't looked in on them today."

"With luck, he's out of the woods at last, Poppy will be around later, and she's confident she can give him the gift of sight," Coop answered. "And they're both inspired, busy learning new spells. This morning we went up to change their bandages, and they'd put booby traps all over the place— James made this coat rack grab us from behind and I'm sure it was Sirius who left some spell lying on the floor that danced us around the room," he told his lifelong friend, who burst out laughing. "The boys were asleep so they woke up to utter chaos and thought we were Death Eaters. Poor Slinky had a nervous breakdown, we had to give her the day off. And now none of the elves want to go in, for fear the laundry will attack them or something of the sort."

"They're getting creative," Angus chortled.

"I told you, you hadn't seen a thing."

Just then, there was a loud _BANG_ from upstairs, followed by an uproar. Coop's heart leapt; he'd missed hearing his boys laughing. James was howling with glee, and Sirius' barking laugh threatened to drown him out. Even Nina made herself heard.

"You can't say that's a bad thing, Angus. _Listen_ to them. They're happy, together."

"Aye, but for how long?"

"However long we can keep them that way."

.

* * *

.

"Are you _done_ yet?" Sirius' voice resembled a very doglike whine. It was grating on his already frayed nerves.

"Give me a minute, _geez_." James wondered for a moment what had gotten into him that made him _miss_ his git of a friend when he was passed out; today, Sirius had been up bright and early — thanks to the early morning scare — and for once, he didn't seem to be on the verge of sleep right after. He'd only taken two naps since, and, being incapable of doing much at all, he'd spent his entire waking time picking on him and rushing him to finish reading.

"Potter, I'll die of old age before you're done at this rate."

"I'll just finish this chapter, hold on a minute. Take a nap or something." James rolled his eyes theatrically, but he knew that complaining any more than he had would be unfair; Sirius couldn't read on his own yet, after all, and he was _bored_.

James could understand _that_.

Added to that, Sirius was still basically blind as a bat and incapable of moving - except for his fingers, and, _of_ _course_ , his mouth. None of that did anything to stop him from floating lazily across the room.

He was making use of a handy levitation spell James had shared with him earlier just to shut him up, and he'd immediately adopted it as a favourite. James wasn't sure how his brother managed to avoid bumping into walls and things, but Sirius seemed quite content with it, claiming his back and his leg hurt loads less if he wasn't _in_ bed, so he'd allowed it.

James finally finished the chapter he'd been reading, shutting the huge book after. Two or so feet above him, Sirius was hovering face down, looking eerily like a ghost come to haunt him.

"How long have you been up there, anyway?" James asked, stretching with a wince and rubbing his eyes.

"Since after brekkers." Sirius flashed out a lopsided grin, which at least, was aimed in his general direction. "I'm sick of staying in bed." James could sympathise, but he was also sure there was something in it, if Poops was so insistent on – specifically, Sirius' – bedrest.

"Poops is going to have _you_ for brekkers if you don't land yourself before she gets back."

"But I'm lying down and everything," Sirius argued, sightless eyes dancing with amusement.

"Yeah, somehow I don't believe that you being horizontal while you sodding _fly around_ is going to help you convince her," James stretched, then beckoned for him to approach. "Come here, then, let's get you all caught up."

Sirius obeyed at once and floated himself lower, relying on James' eyesight to navigate and coming to a halt inches away from his face. James suddenly hesitated, unsure where he could safely touch his friend to move him around. From this up close, despite all the bandaging and dressings, it was impossible to miss just how _hurt_ he was.

Not that Sirius himself seemed to even realise it; if he did, he was hiding it remarkably well.

"Let's get you to bed first," James decided, taking his wand.

"Be gentle with me, it's my first time," Sirius said with a lazy sort of grin, which would have earned him a whack any other day. James snorted in defeat.

"You're insufferable."

"I'm very sufferable, I'll have you know. Sufferable and _irresistible_."

James chuckled.

"Man, what are they _giving_ you? You're totally _re_ sistible, in fact, I'm tempted to run away from you." He floated him over to his bed, taking great care to lower his stoned friend slowly onto the mattress.

"Keep telling yourself that," Sirius replied, allowing himself to be tugged to his bed like a balloon. "You don't know what you're _missing_ — _nghh_." He winced, when he touched down on the mattress and his levitation spell was cancelled.

"Sorry, Pads." James grimaced in sympathy, getting out of bed with the overall grace and speed of a slug trying to find its way through churned butter, but his mind was on to his next challenge.

He didn't know if there was an inch of Sirius that wasn't torn, pulled, broken or cut, and it was evident that their usual go-to-war of headbutting the information into each other was not an option; Sirius' head looked like a badly-assembled patchwork of oozing red scar tissue, now the nurse had taken the bandaging off to let it finish healing, and James didn't want to make things worse here. Hard as it seemed to achieve.

In the end, he reached out and gently pulled Sirius closer, carefully touching his forehead against his.

"See?" said Sirius through barred teeth, "You just can't keep away from me." James laughed in disbelief.

"Dude, you're so _baked_."

Sirius squeezed out a grin, but the next moment, everything James had read since yesterday started pouring from his and into Sirius' head, and all that was forthcoming from him was an unintelligible sort of noise.

"There, that'll entertain you for a bit," James told Sirius a moment later, trying for an exasperated tone and failing. Sirius didn't answer; the recipient of information shared this way was a little out of it, after all, and James could feel quite clearly how Sirius' head was buzzing with the host of newly-acquired spells. It wasn't the usual rush they both rather enjoyed, but then, very little was the same lately.

James blamed the potions that kept his best friend loopy and completely insensible for that too.

He slowly hobbled back to his own bed — which he didn't mind being stuck in at all, lying down felt _heavenly_ — and was considering yelling for his Mum when Sirius finally let out a sound.

It was a delighted sort of laugh.

"Oh Prongs, we _have_ to try these out," he crooned, startling James, who turned to stare at him. Potions or no, that had sounded _exactly_ like the _old Sirius_. The one he'd nearly forgotten had once existed, one he had feared would never surface again.

"Which ones?" he asked curiously, a small smile playing on his lips.

" _All_ of them," Sirius decided. "They're totally brilliant, and I _want them all_."

"Are you talking about spells or the jelly babies you have for brains? Because you lost a few."

"You're a jelly baby brain."

"Say that three times fast."

.

* * *

.

At school, they never really had a proper Imbolc Eve, not as James was used to, at least; Hogwarts held the traditional feast on the first of February, yes, but it was usually a regular school day. At home, however, it was a major holiday, and whenever it fell on a weekend, James went to visit his parents for it, and sometimes he'd even invited his friends. Godric's Hollow made a bigger deal out of it than just about any other magical town, with feasts and dancing and a festival and fireworks. He particularly loved the giant bonfires.

This Imbolc, though, was something James wouldn't forget so soon; not because anything extra-special was going on, but because for once, _nothing_ was. And yet, _everything_ was happening today, he could feel it.

He was sitting up in bed, pretending to study, while Nina was sitting cross-legged on Sirius' own, reading about Concealment Charms. She had been staying over with her uncle Angus, and James was incredibly grateful for that. He had found her to be great company to have around during the long hours Sirius was asleep, better company still when he was awake, and James was nothing if not aware how much Sirius _liked_ having her around, or how his face lit up whenever James looked at her when he still needed him for eyesight.

James wasn't sure he could have continued watching Nina all the time without completely freaking her out, but at least that was over now that Sirius' eyes had been fixed; now the loopiness from the potions had finally faded, his favourite ever friend could finally do his own brand of staring without his help.

Not that he really did.

James had to keep biting his tongue to prevent himself from mocking Sirius and Nina, and therein lay his present challenge.

He found it nothing short of hilarious how they kept shooting glances at each other, always when the other was looking away; how Nina would bend over backwards to keep Sirius comfortable, and how she would insist on being the one to give him his potions, or doing any little thing he needed; or, and this was the funniest, really, how Sirius didn't seem to mind these attentions at all, but hadn't much of a clue what brought it all on or indeed what to do about it. James was aware that he needed to relearn (or, in most cases, learn) that human contact wasn't always bad, but he couldn't help finding him funny.

He had the Potter Inarticulation Systemic Syndrome (a.k.a. the PISS), and it had hit him hard; so hard in fact, that he didn't even realise it yet. Remus had been right.

James watched his best friend thoughtfully, but Sirius was busy soaking up information, too focused on committing a myriad battle spells to memory to notice he was under such close scrutiny.

Which was maybe a good thing; best friends or no, James didn't think Sirius would appreciate being stared at like that, but he couldn't help himself. He and James hadn't really spoken about the ton of things that had happened since they'd mocked Snivellus together, they hadn't really _talked_ since before the Yule, and he was a little unsure as to how he could approach his friend, who was still so clearly unwell. Of course, James wouldn't prod him for his thoughts on any of that, not yet, not until he was good and ready, but he couldn't help wondering when that would be.

While James was getting better as fast as was expected with magical healing, Sirius was still so weak he could hardly keep his head upright without help. James had been told that it was a consequence of the host of curses he'd been hit with, and while he'd been finally improving before, it was impossible to miss how much his new injuries were weighing him down, how exhausted he was in reality.

Not that Sirius said anything about that at all.

When he was awake, he didn't complain half as much as he _ought_ to, in James' opinion, but he did plenty of it in his sleep, which was worse somehow. There was nothing James could do about it this time, except call for his parents whenever he heard him moan or cry out, and hope for it to end soon.

Despite his display of stoicism, Sirius' appearance was a dead giveaway on his condition; though he _was_ improving, his eyes were still sunken in, dulled with pain more often than not. He was leaner than ever, pale as a sheet, and his right hand sometimes twitched out of its own accord, without him seeming to even notice.

Worse yet, in James' opinion, were the scars.

While the bruising was long gone and most of the marks of his recent encounters with the Death Eaters were hidden under the bandages covering his upper body, there was a collection of ugly, red-raw, raised scars that ran across the sides of his head from the back of his neck almost to his hairline, easily visible where his hair had been cut to heal them. It was an overall discouraging sight.

Though he'd seen it all through Sirius' eyes, James was mostly in the dark about what, exactly, was wrong; it was also nearly impossible to get anything from Pomfrey when she came over, so he was a little hazy on the details, but he knew that it had all been very much touch-and-go until last night, when the nurse had finally managed to repair Sirius' skull.

Or something.

Again, James hadn't been told, and when he asked Sirius about it, he just shrugged it off with a very uninformative, "Y'know, the usual."

Today, to everyone's relief, Poops had finally declared Sirius stable, and in James' eyes this was cause enough for celebration.

Sirius didn't seem to share his point of view, though. As soon as he found that he could see and sit up again, Sirius decided that it was high time he snatched the _Hit Wizard Guidebook_ from under James' nose with an oddly matter-of-fact, "Give it," and without a shred of excitement or even relief for his recently improved condition.

Or maybe the loopy potions had just run out.

All he'd said for an explanation before he started channelling Remus, was, "You're not even paying attention properly."

Their shared bond wasn't helping James get any insight, either; all he got from his best friend whenever he tried to tap into his head were spells and diagrams, but zero actual thoughts that could tell him what he was feeling — _unless_ Nina showed up.

Then, James would get treated to butterflies in a stomach that wasn't his, the PISS, and a whole lot of confusion – because Sirius had never gotten the PISS before – which didn't help by way of giving James any kind of clue, except for the conclusion that Sirius was really the most obsessive, oblivious person alive.

James had become very aware of how _driven_ Sirius was; he knew it wasn't without a reason, but Padfoot had basically started cramming and just didn't seem to want to _stop_.

He was also incredibly, impossibly _contagious,_ getting excited over the smallest spells and thinking up potential uses for them. Even Nina had jumped on their little bandwagon, and their conversation had centred around spells and hexes and strategies all day.

James was certain it would be even _more_ fun when they got to get out of bed and practice what they'd been learning, but what little they could do in the house was wicked in its own right, and played right into his hands; _he_ had, after all, his own little agenda.

Just earlier, he, Sirius and Nina had been making tracking balloons and set them against each other, which made chaos unfold when they crashed into the others, right on top of James, who had failed rather dismally in his attempts at dodging them.

On purpose.

He _could_ have moved aside faster, of course; he was well enough to, after all. He _could_ have saved himself the bother of getting splattered with Sirius' glowing goo — but he had _chosen not to,_ giving them a show instead that turned it into a battle royale of mush and, for some reason, off-key Bee Gees songs.

His reward had come instantly, and it had been very gratifying: Sirius and Nina had both laughed, _really_ laughed, at his discomfiture, which was one thing that simply _didn't_ happen without an external nudge.

It felt good to hear them laugh; because they needed to, and because they were both on the same boat, in a way.

James wasn't blind — never mind what Sirius had to say on the matter — and though neither of the boys had yet dared ask Nina about the jagged scar on the left side of her throat, both knew the tale it told; it was just like the ugly affair left behind on James' own midriff, or Sirius', well, his _everything_ , just about. James might never have been hurt by Death Eaters directly, thanks to Sirius, but he'd faced what they both had, had seen enough through Sirius' eyes to know what they had narrowly escaped; to him, it was as though, if they weren't reminded that they still could, they'd forget to smile at the drop of a hat.

For some reason, James dreaded that the most, so he made a point of nudging — and sometimes shoving — them to do so, often and when they least expected it.

Right now, though, he was taking a well-deserved break, to eat another grass cake.

"It's almost six," Nina suddenly announced, closing her book with a _snap_ and making Sirius look up from his with a questioning look.

"It's Saturday," she reminded him. "I'll get the telly," and she was off before Sirius could say anything. He didn't really need to; he was happily surprised that she'd remembered at all.

They'd be watching Doctor Who again, and while last Saturday Nina seemed to enjoy watching the show — or rather, watching _Sirius_ watch the show — James usually used this time to spend it with his parents. He was convinced that Sirius could read _Uric the Oddball's Travels Through Time_ and get a bigger blast out of it, rather than ogling that klutz of a bloke with the extra-long scarf as he put his foot in it more often than he got things right, but he'd indulge them today.

Because today was _different_.

Today was _special_ , because it was Imbolc Eve, and they nearly hadn't gotten to see _this_ Saturday. So, James decided to spend it with them, and make sure to make them laugh at least as much as the Doctor and his chosen foes for the week would.

Given that until recently he'd thought a telly box was actually a window to other places and his general lack of knowledge of what Sirius called science fiction, he was confident that he could have them in stitches in no time, and by the time everything was ready for the feast and the bonfires, they'd be primed for an evening of fun.

.

* * *

.

" _Finite incantatem_ ," Betty said before carefully easing the boys' bedroom door open. She'd learnt the hard way that her husband's plan to teach them to defend themselves against the Dark Side had been taken up with incredible enthusiasm, and she was not about to underestimate them on account of their poor health again.

Once dancing across the room to a Muggle rock song was enough for her, and she missed the good old days when they'd enforced the 'no magic in the house' rule. Now, a mere forty-eight hours after this rule had been cancelled, nobody could trust _anything_ in that room, starting with the boys themselves; they'd taken it upon themselves — though she suspected James had been the most inspired, as Sirius wasn't as mobile yet — to transfigure, charm, or outright hex pretty much everything in their room, from the rubbish bin to the curtains and maybe even the doorknobs, it was impossible to tell.

She poked her head in, scanning the room for any obvious signs of magical items ready to go bedlam.

Sirius was fast asleep, but James was already stirring, as had become customary. Walk in at any time during the night, and Sirius would be awake in a blinking, but after dawn and closer to breakfast, he was out like a light, no matter what went on around him. They'd need to start changing his sleeping habits, or he'd have a hard time adjusting when he went back to school.

Betty was aware that his sleeping schedule was only the tip of an iceberg of wrongs, and it was the same with James; he wouldn't talk about it, but something had been taken away from him, from both, and it was something neither he nor Sirius would ever again have. And she sorely missed her boys, as they'd once been.

Her heart ached for both of them, and it made her want to hide them from the world for good; James was improving steadily, but she hadn't missed how his eyes had lost the shine of innocence, and were lined by deep-seated worries he should never have had. And Sirius was so weak still, so desperately in need of her, that it was hard to stay away at all, harder still to think of the day when both would return to Hogwarts. She knew that the parting would be the worst she'd ever had to endure, and she dreaded it; it would be downright depressing.

They would not leave today, though. Today, she could still be there for them, every minute of the day. Today, she was still the pillar that her boys could lean on, unshakeable and strong.

"Did you sleep well, sweetie?" she asked softly, giving her son a kiss on his forehead and smoothing out his messy fringe as he lapsed into a groggy wakefulness.

"Yes, mostly," he answered thickly. "Morning, Mum. Happy Imbolc." Betty handed him his glasses with a fond smile, waiting for him to put them on and give her a fogged sort of look.

"Happy Imbolc, darling. I brought you your breakfast, and later, maybe you would like to come downstairs?"

"You reckon?" James sounded hopeful, but it changed to worry as he craned around to look at Sirius, who was deeply asleep for once. For that alone, she thanked the goddess; he'd spent enough nights bothered by bad dreams. They both had.

"I do. Are you feeling okay?" she asked him. In that regard, it was very similar to her usual dialogue with Sirius, and did James even realise he was repeating the pattern, pretending he was better than he actually felt? Moreover, did neither of them know that they couldn't fool her at all?

"Well, yeah… I feel loads better, Mum." He looked over at the next bed again. "I'm just wondering about him."

"I think he'll be okay to go sit on the porch, he was well enough for the bonfire last night."

"It was _brilliant_ ," he replied earnestly. "He loved it, and so did I. I'd never seen a wicker Brigid so large."

Betty laughed a little, "Your father has been rather restless, so he got inspired, and when he and Angus get together, why, it's almost like seeing you and Sirius when you're cooking up trouble."

James grinned.

"Besides, we have many reasons for an extra special Imbolc this year. We asked for many blessings last night."

"Does that actually, y'know, _work_?" James wondered. Betty nodded, cupping her son's face in her hands and regarding him fondly.

"It does; it's powerful magic, of the older kind some people have forgotten. To be true, we had hoped that by now Sirius would be okay and we wouldn't need to resort to this, but I believe it was a stroke of luck that it's Imbolc now… now that there's so much need for Brigid's powers in this family."

"So… we'll, what? Suddenly get better or something? Because I honestly don't really feel all that different from last night."

"You'll tell me yourself when you both come downstairs later," said Betty, helping him sit up and pulling him into a hug. "Brigid is a healing goddess, as you know, and a protector of the home. If everything worked as it should, you'll feel it at once when you accept her gifts. Now let's get you sorted first, and then we'll see if we can wake Sirius up."

"Let him sleep in," James advised against her shoulder. "He finished that book of Moody's and everything, and he's always so tired."

"Yes, he does need his rest."

"And this way, I get more time with you." This made Betty smile widely.

"Let's let him sleep, then, my darling boy."

"Okay, just don't call me that in front of him, I'll never live it down."

"Where's the harm in that? I call him _Pumpkin_. You outgrew that one before school."

"That's as may be, but he _likes_ it when you call him that."

.

* * *

.

James knew his parents had to be beyond tired, looking after him and Sirius every minute of every day, but still they had done the thing proper; the house was decorated and festive, and a very large figure of the goddess Brigid was sleeping in the traditional bed in the front room when he and Sirius were helped downstairs later. Once she woke, the wickerwork goddess waddled around the house, blessing it with a panoply of protective charms and making flowers appear out of thin air.

His Mum had also made everyone a "little something" for the occasion, as traditionally clothes were laid out for the goddess to bless and imbue with healing powers, so James and Sirius found themselves in possession of some tunics, which they were supposed to wear under their robes.

And what do you know, they _worked_. James wasn't sure if it was the goddess at work, or his parents' brand of magic, but… he felt better, as soon as he slipped it over his head; in an _instant_ he felt more alert, there was a momentary tingling all over his wounds, and just like _that_ , he _felt_ them start to close over.

His Mum smiled knowingly at his surprised expression, while helping Sirius out of his pyjama top and into his own tunic, with a similar effect; where he'd been swaying dizzily on his chair, he suddenly looked healthier, somehow; the rings under his eyes seemed to fade a little, and he seemed… steadier. A bit.

" _Whoa_ ," he muttered, as surprised as James. "That tingles."

"That means it's working, Pumpkin." As always, Sirius smiled at the endearment. James had thought it was brilliant blackmail material, until he realised that Sirius didn't mind being called that. Not a whit.

Angus had made them presents too, in the form of leather armguards, which he claimed would help them as well. If nothing else, the things looked _wicked_ : covered in moving, glowing runes and made of leather and dragonhide, they looked very much in place at a renaissance fair. James could tell that Sirius liked his about as much as he liked being called Pumpkin.

"Anything leaning towards blue or white is good," Angus informed proudly, showing them James' one, whose symbols were flashing green and blue. "Anything that suggests any shade of red, isn't," he gestured at Sirius', which flared up as though it was on fire as soon as it was strapped onto his right wrist, which was still tightly bandaged and padded up.

James frowned; that didn't look particularly reassuring, but he could feel — and see — that it was also effective; some of the symbols on Sirius' arm were turning colours almost at once, flickering purple rather than crimson, and though Sirius was looking at it, bemused, he was clearly also having less trouble sitting up.

"These will make sure ye heal faster, and they'll regulate yer systems to boost yer treatments. And they have diagnostic spells on them too, so we will be able to tell what is wrong at a glance," Angus informed, looking accomplished and filling his pipe. "Dinna take them off lads, not for anything."

"Thanks, Mr. McAlpin," they chorused, but the enormous wizard waved it off with a smile, deciding he was in need of a snack and went to join what he called the "women folk" in the kitchen, from which a racket issued moments later.

"Get out of here, Uncle Angus!" Nina's voice carried to them, but she was laughing.

"But we men _need_ sustenance!" Angus argued, followed by a _bang_ , lots of smoke, and loud laughter.

James and Sirius watched with curiosity as the wizard emerged, triumphantly carrying a platter of cold cuts and cheese as he was promptly evicted, his eyebrows singed and his hair on end.

All in all, it was a brilliant Imbolc.

The house was soon full of people; Dumbledore and McGonagall dropped by in the afternoon, bringing Remus and Peter with them, but they'd hardly said their hellos, when Alastor Moody stepped out of the fireplace.

James got to bask in — and duly mock — the other Marauders' expressions as they saw the Auror hobble in, his peg leg thumping ominously on the wooden floor, but his amusement died soon.

He had honestly never seen Sirius so shocked, but it was understandable, seeing how imposing the Auror was. Especially as Sirius hadn't yet been told about the Order of the Phoenix, or Moody's involvement in keeping him hidden away from the Ministry's search for him. Or anything that could be remotely upsetting, really. Even James had avoided the topic like the plague.

"So, _Black_ ," the old Auror stated, his one eye boring uncannily into Sirius' as he towered over him. "You seem to be on the mend at last."

Sirius' first thought was, unsurprisingly, that he'd finally come to drag him off to Azkaban, which was exactly what James had thought a few days prior. James felt sudden trepidation flare up from his best friend's end, not unlike what he himself had felt, when he first met the grizzled wizard.

"I s'pose," Sirius answered evenly, but inwardly he was trying to clamp down on his rising alarm.

 _Don't worry Padfoot, he won't arrest you_ , James tried to reassure him.

 _How can you tell? It's either that or he wants to have me for bloody_ _ **dinner**_.

 _I just know. Relax, he's a friend_.

"There's a few things I'd like to ask you, if you don't mind." James figured that Moody was trying to sound friendly, but he simply _couldn't_ pull it off. Even that question sounded — and looked — like a death threat.

"I guess..." Sirius sounded like he really did mind, but Moody grinned at him, crossing his arms over his massive chest menacingly. Yep, Moody did friendly about as well as a Tibetan yeti with rabies.

 _See? Dinner_ , Sirius whined. _Halp, Prongs, halp._

_Relax, Padfoot. He's **really** a friend._

_Yeah? Want to come over and remind_ _**him** _ _of that?_

"I hear you're the one who trapped over sixty Death Eaters —" Moody started, but James' Dad cut him off.

"And Voldemort," he supplied from the other end of the front room, grinning and giving Sirius a wink.

"And _allegedly_ , also Voldemort," Moody conceded with a snort, still staring a hole into Sirius, "with a _single_ spell."

Sirius shrugged one shoulder, looking between Moody and James' Dad, and swallowed back his misgivings.

"I hear you're the one who let most of them get away, with a single spell," he deadpanned. "Not sure which is the greater achievement."

Moody blinked a few times, stunned or incensed, James honestly couldn't tell; the wizard's face was contorted in a grimace no matter what expression he wore, but this was a bit more daunting than he'd expected.

Dumbledore and McGonagall had broken off mid-sentence, and James could see his parents exchange a glance; even Remus' and Peter's faces morphed into what looked like a panicked cringe in slow motion, their previous conversation with Nina forgotten.

And then Moody burst out laughing. He also did humour as well as the aforesaid rabid yeti, James noted.

"I _like_ you, kid," he said, thumping Sirius on the back and nearly toppling him off his seat. Sirius winced, and James' Mum helped him lean back on his chair, chiding Moody for being too rough. James wondered if that would work.

"So, let's get started, Black. What spell did you use?" Moody asked after apologising profusely to one Betty Potter, who gave him a warning look and planted a kiss on Sirius' forehead. The Auror laughed, plopping down onto a nearby chair back to front and staring at Sirius expectantly.

Sirius was made to explain the spells he'd used, and then he had to tell the story of what had happened when Voldemort attacked them, which James found was even _better_ than what his Dad had told him because Sirius hadn't passed out at all, but it didn't end there. After that, he was pushed into answering a host of questions. If Voldemort had indeed been there; if he was sure it was Voldemort he saw; how many Death Eaters he'd seen; and who all he'd recognised, and how he'd known the wards were being breached, and if he knew how the Death Eaters had gotten into the house, it was _endless_.

To James' relief, Moody didn't ask Sirius about Penarth, or the Muggle girl who had died there, or even how he'd gotten to Godric's Hollow. That would have ruined the evening, and Sirius had been tired even before the Auror had started asking his million questions. Maybe Moody could see it as well, and this was his strange, rough way of being _considerate_. Moody didn't really do considerate well, either.

It wasn't as if he seemed to care that he was exhausting his best friend and making his head, and therefore James' as well, pound and sting something wonderful. James soon found himself wondering how to get Moody to change the subject, or drop it altogether, preferably _without_ angering him.

In the end, he didn't have to.

James had been fidgeting in his chair, trying to get a word in edgewise to interrupt the interrogation as a last resort, when there was a flash of green from the kitchen and Sirius' uncle Alphard did it for him.

"Can you remember when you started getting that smell you were telling me about just now?" Moody was asking.

"Not sure," Sirius said, heaving a sigh and sounding drained. "Maybe two, three days before they showed up— Uncle _Alfie_?" Sirius exclaimed, blanking the Auror at once. And thus, the interrogation was over.

"Sirius, my boy!" the old wizard was clearly beside himself with joy, clapping him on the shoulder and giving it a squeeze — the Blacks' version of a fierce embrace. Sirius winced again, but he didn't lose the grin on his face. James got the same sort of hello, which told him that Alfie was over the moon at seeing the two of them.

Bunch of oddballs, those Blacks.

"What are you doing here?" Sirius asked curiously. "I thought Aunt Elladora was watching your every move."

"Oh, you know her, she _tries_ ," said the old wizard, with a grin to match Sirius'.

"Where are you supposed to be, then?"

"Right now, she believes I'm on my way to the Isle of Arran, to look at this year's wicker man," Alphard answered.

"Sneaky," Sirius replied. "Do you really think she bought it?"

"They do sacrifices there, of _course_ she did."

James cringed a little, but Sirius didn't seem ruffled by it. He was onto something else.

"And how long can y—"

"Not long, but I believe I can manage dinner without much trouble."

"You _sure_?" Sirius' grin went even wider.

"Pretty much," said Alphard with a shrug, his clear grey eyes roving appraisingly over every inch of his nephew. If he was concerned out of what he saw, he didn't show it. "Enough about me, though. You've been _busy_ since the Yule."

"I wouldn't call it that," Sirius had lost his smile, and James felt alarm rising up again. He didn't want Sirius upset, not tonight at least, preferably not ever. Thankfully, Alfie seemed to catch on, because he only gave Sirius another pat.

"Tell me, how are you boys holding up?"

It was Sirius' turn to shrug, rather helplessly. He glanced over at James, who was rather at a loss for words; it was a loaded question, one he hadn't even talked to Sirius about. He rather dreaded the answer.

"Y'know uncle Alfie, to tell you the truth…" Sirius started, looking dispirited for a moment. But then he paused and smiled reassuringly, surprising even James. "I think we'll be okay."

.

* * *

.

Upon waking the next morning, James was surprised how well the ceremonial magic his parents had done _worked_.

Not that he hadn't noticed before; he was feeling so much better by dinner time, that he didn't need to stay in bed anymore. Even Sirius was better, finally well enough to move around on his own. While it didn't go beyond sitting up and feeding himself, and didn't come without an effort, James felt uncharacteristically optimistic, despite the many things that still indicated the opposite.

Over a month had passed since this ordeal began, and James was sure he couldn't take another blow of this sort; as Sirius used to say, when he still complained about it, he was _tired_.

So was Sirius, he knew; only, his best friend had changed in ways he couldn't put his finger on yet. Where James was still anxious, Sirius forced his own fears as deep down as they would go, and channelled his own energy into figuring out what to do about it. Still, James doubted he didn't feel weighed down by it all.

After all, Sirius wasn't the only one suffering from recurring nightmares anymore. James' own weren't like Sirius', who mostly dreamt of things that _had_ happened in vivid detail, reliving the many nasty experiences he had yet to come to terms with. James' were worse; they centred around what _could_ happen, on a myriad of possibilities of the worst-possible scenarios that could ever be thought out.

Sirius didn't like them either, he was aware of that, but James couldn't help them any more than Sirius himself could, and over the past couple of nights, they'd taken turns waking each other up to stop their brains from feeding into their fears.

Luckily, after the Imbolc he had one more thing that brought him hope, one more lifeline to hold on to.

Poops had come over last night and worked her magic on them both, and now James was much improved; the last deep gashes on his chest were practically closed by now, and he'd moved on from having to drink a million potions, to one ointment his Mum was supposed to dab on them every morning. Other than that, he was A-okay.

As for Sirius, his wounds were _finally,_ and most importantly, _visibly_ healing. Now, at last, progress was letting itself be seen: Sirius was keeping solid food down now and looked like he was starting to gain weight; he had also finally managed to stay awake until after dinner. There was still thick padding around his midriff and his right hand, and Poops seemed very reluctant to get the cast off his leg, but he was finally looking _better_. Loads better, all the more so because he wasn't getting as many headaches anymore.

James would joke about it whenever he could, arguing that they'd assembled his head wrong, and Sirius would laugh at that, but though James smiled, inwardly he didn't find it funny. He was still worried that Sirius would lapse back into the brooding pool of misery he had been before, or, Merlin forbid, that he'd start forgetting stuff again. He hadn't so far, though.

And, James realised upon putting on his glasses, he wasn't even _here_.

He got out of bed, instantly worried. Last night, Sirius had been better, yes, but he hadn't been able to _walk_. He'd been so tired that he'd been carried to bed, and he'd even missed the fireworks.

James grabbed his wand and made his hurried way downstairs, fearing the worst — and realised he'd barged in on an argument only when he saw everyone's expressions as they turned to look at him.

Even though it was still early, he found his family assembled in the front room, staring at each other. His parents looked frustrated, and Sirius, whom it was so _strange_ to see standing up and dressed in robes rather than wearing pyjamas for the first time in _ages_ , was staring right back impassively, leaning against the wall.

"What's the matter?" James asked, confused. He'd just woken up, but already he felt clued out.

"Poppy was here earlier. She said that Sirius could _maybe_ return to Hogwarts in a few days," Coop replied. James didn't miss the frosty tone, but ignored it for now, this was…

"Awesome, does that mean you're _healed_?" Had the Brigid thing indeed worked _that_ well?

"He's _not_ ," Betty corrected, and sweet Merlin, she was _angry_.

"I feel better," said Sirius, in a tone that suggested it wasn't the first time he'd told them that.

"Maybe, sweetie, but you aren't _yet_."

"Poppy believes she can finish his treatment at school," his Dad informed James, then turned to Sirius, "but it's only the first time you've gotten up on your own, son." Sirius shrugged. Like it didn't matter.

"Alright," James commented uncertainly. "So you just got vertical. That's good too, yeah? Means you won't conk out at random anymore, right? So… what's the plan?"

"We wanted to take Sirius to school on the Knight Bus." Coop answered, huffing.

"But he doesn't seem to want us to _go with him_." Betty crossed her arms over her chest, levelling the Glare of the Pottexterminator (TM) at Sirius, who had the good sense to look away.

James finally understood what this was about.

"You want to go _alone_? Are you _insane_ or just plain _stupid?_ " he erupted, instantly outraged. After all this time, all their carefully laid plans, Sirius still insisted on undoing everything with his ruddy stubbornness! Hadn't he understood that they wouldn't let him get in danger again?

"So nobody knows where I've been staying," Sirius answered levelly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. To his credit, he didn't even seem bothered at having everyone mad at him. He was not even abashed, but James thought it was the _least_ he ought to be. "Look, I talked to Alfie last night. If the Munchers find out I've been here, they'll be hot after your blood. _Worse_ than they are now. I'll manage one little bus ride on my own."

"Yeah, and _nobody_ will suspect you're taking it from here." James hadn't meant for it to come out dripping sarcasm, but he failed. He found that he didn't really care.

Sirius didn't seem to, either, though.

"I'm not leaving from here," he answered in the same casual tone he'd been using so far. "I'll take it from somewhere else, don't be daft."

"From where?" James shot back.

"Depends how far and how many times I can apparate." He said it as though he were planning to dash to the corner shop for ice cream. "I might not even take the bus at all, I could go straight to Hogsmeade, and-"

"You don't have a license!" James and his Mum chorused. In the background, Angus chuckled softly, but Coop kept silent. He was staring at Sirius with a frown.

"Turns out, it's _magic_ ," Sirius countered, and was the git _amused_? Yes, he _was_. It made James even angrier, somehow. Maybe it was his tone, like he was trying to explain things to a hyperactive toddler, he didn't know. "It's a _spell_ , the license doesn't give you the power to apparate."

" _I know that_ , I'm not that dense!" James snapped. "But—"

"So, if I can do it, I don't exactly need a _license_ for it, do I."

"Yeah, but _can_ you?" James wanted to know.

Sirius raised his eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders.

"I've done it before, just the once. Didn't work out like I wanted."

Suddenly James felt left out. More left out.

_Why don't I know how to do it, then?_

"But it's illegal," Betty argued. Angus muffled a snort, which he swallowed back when she glared at him.

"No more illegal than everything else I've already done," Sirius reminded her. "In for a Sickle and all that. It won't make a difference, Mrs. P, honest."

"It will, honey," she insisted worriedly. "Those other times, that was self-defence—"

"And _this_ is to avoid having to face that lot again. I can't do _that_."

"We agree on one thing, then," James' Mum crossed her arms irritably. "And you still want to go off by yourself."

"No, Mrs. P," Sirius admitted, earnestly. "I just don't want you to come."

"How do you even know how to do it?" James asked impatiently, interrupting his parents' tirade before they even started arguing with Sirius. He wouldn't listen, that much was clear.

"I read this here, it's ancient, but Apparition is still the same as it used to be a hundred years ago, and the whole deal is in it." Sirius raised a battered old book for an explanation and handed it to him. James leafed through it, mystified.

"Wait, you said you couldn't do it before," his Dad countered sharply.

"What?" James asked, back to feeling left out. "When did you—" His Dad waved it off, waiting for Sirius to answer.

"I couldn't the other day, no," Sirius admitted. "Not with you, and not all the way from Wales to Hogwarts. But—"

" _Rewind_." James was as incredulous as his Dad, but for another reason. Sirius gave him a mildly curious look. "You figured out how to apparate all by _yourself_?"

"Well, not quite," Sirius answered honestly. "Your Dad gave me his notes the other week, and I found that book last night." He gave James a bit of an amused smile. "I didn't just sit in bed waiting all day for you to come visit, you know."

" _Of course_ you didn't," James replied, though he had indeed believed that. "But… Why didn't you tell me?"

Sirius shrugged one shoulder. "It didn't come up."

"Have you tried it yet?" Coop asked keenly. In a blinking, he had forgotten that he was angry at his surrogate son. Even James' Mum seemed a little less furious at him, how did he _do_ that?

"No," said Sirius, "the one time I've tried it, I splinched myself and landed where I _wasn't_ trying to go… as you know." All three Potters looked down as one. "But I've got the theory down, this time, and… I was sort of hoping you'd help me with it."

And that changed everything, didn't it?

"Well, that's a bit different," Coop conceded, voicing James' thoughts, but his Mum gave him the same sort of disbelieving look she had been giving Sirius. "You can't deny that it widens the scope of possibilities, my dear."

"He's hardly well enough to _walk_ , and you want to send him _out there_ , _on his own_?"

 _Oops_. His Dad had done it now.

"How about this?" Sirius interrupted the argument before it started all over. "We could _maybe_ give it a shifty, and _if_ it works, we'll do it my way. If I can't do it, we'll do it yours. I just don't want you getting in more trouble, Mrs. P. Not on my account."

"Sirius, we've been _over_ this. You're worth it to us."

"And you're worth it to _me_ , Mrs. P," Sirius countered earnestly, effectively shutting her up. Even James, who was about to argue, found his voice dying in his throat; it was the closest Sirius had ever come to expressing that he cared about someone, and as such, it was deserving of more than passing notice. Sirius took advantage in the sudden silence, and added, "Look, I don't want a repeat of Godric's Hollow, and if the Death Eaters find out where I am, what you've been doing, they'll come _here_. In an _instant_." He left the statement hanging, but his expression told volumes. Sirius had thought this through, hadn't he? "The less _anyone_ connects us to each other right now, the better, and if I go back alone, the Ministry will stop picking on you. At least the Death Eaters won't know where you are, not for certain."

"We can handle Crouch—" James' Dad started, but Sirius shook his head resolutely.

"You shouldn't have to," he countered. "There's no point to _any_ of this if you end up in prison out of me catching a bus to school."

"He's got a point," Angus pitched in tentatively. Coop heaved a sigh.

"I still don't like it."

"I didn't think you would, Mr. P," said Sirius, quietly. "But I _really_ can't think of another way. If you have a better idea, I'm all ears."

"What is it you want to do, exactly?" James asked.

Sirius's face broke into a grin.

.

* * *

.

In the end, they went with Sirius' plan. As he'd known they would; he'd been thinking of little else over the past couple of weeks, and the conclusion he'd come to, was one that the Potters and Angus ended up reaching themselves.

James had been the hardest to sway, but when he couldn't come up with a better idea, he swallowed back his many misgivings on the matter, and came to the same conclusion as his parents: Sirius' idea wasn't only workable, it was the best one any of them could come up with.

It helped that Sirius had managed to get up on his own at long last, thanks to whatever magic the Potters had pulled out of their hats, and while he needed to stop for a breather what felt like every five minutes, and James' Mum adamantly made him lie down for at least an hour before and after each meal, he was equally adamant — although she called him stubborn — and evicted himself from bed the rest of the time.

He'd spent long enough lying down, thankyouverymuch, and while Poops wasn't quite on board with his new-found mobility — as he found out shortly after what he fondly dubbed his first Potter family intervention — he had to start _moving_ , if he wanted to go back to school with James.

This, he had also turned around many times, more often since last night, where sleep had been out of the question for what felt like ages. He'd talked to Alfie, before he left; he'd spoken to Moody as well, and learnt a host of things from the blunt wizard, mostly about the current state of events, and, after he had had some firewhiskey, also of the suspicions he had regarding the fate of this one spellbook _someone_ had nicked.

The old Auror had taken it better than they'd thought, rolling his one eye at James' Dad and giving him a whack with the book. Mr. P had only grinned at him, but both were rather tipsy by then.

Mr. P had already told Sirius some of what the Potters had been planning for when he returned to "the world of the living", as the old wizard put it, but that plan seemed to have gone out the window. People already knew he _wasn't_ dead, which Sirius honestly didn't much care about. However, the Dark Side knew it as well, they also probably knew he was staying with the Potters, and that was something he couldn't bring himself to shrug off. While the Potters hadn't wanted to talk to him about it — because they seemed to think he was made of glass or one baby-step away from death — Sirius had never been easily fooled. The Potters didn't know what to do about it, and so Sirius decided he'd figure something out.

He'd spent the entire Imbolc feast gathering information, as it were, scoping out his remaining available options, and theirs. That was why he'd jumped his idea on everyone this morning; there simply wasn't any time to waste. The longer he and James stayed here, the higher the chances of the Dark Side attacking the Potters and finding them vulnerable. Alone, Mr. and Mrs. P had a greater chance to survive, as they had for over a century, and if he and James practised at least some of the spells they'd learnt over the past few days, then they could do more than just be convenient targets when something happened next.

Because it _would_ , and his gut told him that _when_ it happened, James would be the one every wand aimed for. Why that was, he couldn't – and _wouldn't_ – ever forget, even if so far, he'd kept mum about it. Bottom line was, James would be attacked again, of that much he was absolutely certain.

Sirius was determined to be there when it did.

He hadn't told the Potters about his suspicions, because they'd not let them back to school; but Hogwarts was their turf, and their chances were so much greater in the castle than out here, where they couldn't even safely do magic outside the house without incurring the Ministry's wrath. Sirius instinctively understood that, but he doubted that the Potters would. They'd try to protect him and James, which was nothing if not heartwarming... but Sirius had learnt the hard way that he couldn't simply let them bear the brunt of something like that; Mr. P had already almost died already, and did he want _that_ on his conscience?

The answer was obvious to him.

Sirius sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. It came much easier than before, but not without the squeak of metal from the brace thing he was wearing on his gammy leg now, Poops' most recent idea for making his life difficult.

He'd joked that it might just be easier to get a wooden one, but both Poops and the Potters had insisted that they'd try to heal it again, so he'd gotten stuck with a hinged metallic affair that, while it did its job and held his leg in place, needed to be greased up every so often or it would squeak every time he so much as breathed.

Looking at it on the bright side, at least it allowed him to walk.

He tapped the hinge with his wand, casting an oiling charm, and the noise stopped. It did nothing for the throbbing everywhere, though.

"Hey Pads," James walked into the room, windswept and red-nosed from the cold on the beach. "How's the enforced bedrest going?"

"Thrill a minute," Sirius replied, scrubbing his face a few times and wiggling his fingers to make a glass of water pour itself and float to his hand. "How's the class?"

"It's been loads of fun," James said with a grin, "you're totally missing out."

"Rub it in, why don't you," Sirius countered placidly.

"Just pointing out the obvious," said James, fairly bouncing to flop on his bed. "I never thought that shielding spells could be so much fun, and Dad knows all these _hexes_... Did you manage to get any sleep? How are you feeling?"

"A little. And you already know."

James grimaced sympathetically, and then predictably, added, "Want me to get you something? I could call Mum…"

"Nah, it's not that bad, and she'd not let me get up again today. Besides, she's still cross."

"She'll get over it," James said matter-of-factly. "Do you think you'll be good to get up again later?" He sounded dubious; they all usually did.

"I'll have to."

"You don't 'have to' _anything_ , Padfoot." James went to the shelves where his parents kept the many healing supplies and started rifling through the potions. "What's the sudden rush, anyway? You're doing loads better, and that's enough, yeah? What difference does it make if you need another week or two before you go back?"

It made a lot of difference, but Sirius just shrugged out his answer. He knew how James felt about the current situation, and he was aware that he would only worry himself to pieces if Sirius shared his own thoughts on the matter. Not to mention, he'd likely side with his parents and they'd keep him here for much longer than was convenient. Than was _safe_.

"Here, this'll help." Sirius looked up, to find a bottle of Ache Away dancing under his nose. "That's what they're giving you, right?"

"Yep. Cheers." Sirius uncorked the vial and downed its bitter contents in a big swig. He grimaced after, but the pain vanished at once, so it was a fair cop.

James took the vial and banished it to the basket the Potters kept for that purpose, sitting down on the edge of his bed with a, "Budge."

"Dad said we'd do apparition later, he's working out the details with Angus," he informed.

"Alright."

"Do you think they'll figure out we're here?" came next, and Sirius looked away from his feet and at James. He had lost his happy façade, but he gave Sirius a knowing, tight sort of smile. "I'm not _that_ thick, you know."

 _No_. No, he wasn't, and he wasn't as blind as Sirius usually claimed, either. James didn't miss much, as a rule.

"I think they might," Sirius answered honestly. "Maybe they even already have. I think… I think that your parents will be sitting ducks if we are still here."

"You mean, like last…?"

"Like last time," Sirius confirmed quietly. "Worse, they'll probably come to straight-up do us all in. I kind of pissed them off."

"Royally. I hear you," James' tone was surprisingly level, and he wasn't freaking out yet, which Sirius saw as a plus. If James started freaking out... he probably would, as well. "What did Alfie tell you?"

"Not much, but… y'know, enough," Sirius told him, all his plans of secrecy out the window in an instant; he _couldn't_ lie to James, he had never been able to, and he didn't want to start trying now. "He's got this new elf, from Bellatrix, it's supposed to keep an eye on him. And it told him some things; nothing concrete, but… you know." Sirius shrugged one shoulder. "It's possible that the lord Thingy knows we're here."

James' face fell.

"Alfie told you that?"

"Not in so many words, and he can't be sure, but that was the gist of it."

"Mum and Dad _were_ talking about visiting Angus in Dal Riada for a bit."

"I know. They should go, while Godric's Hall is being fixed."

"They won't if we're still here, is that it?" James asked him. "Is that why you're in such a hurry all of a sudden?"

Sirius looked at him helplessly, shrugging his shoulders.

James heaved a great sigh, nodding to himself after. He'd suspected, of course, it was evident now. But suspecting and getting confirmation were two different beasts.

"Dad said he'll send me to school on the eighth," he said at length. "That's Sunday, which means we've got six days. Do you think they'll—"

"I haven't gotten anything. Not a whiff, not even a _hint_. But of course, they _could_."

"But the _wards_ —"

"Hey, I'm not saying this place is defenceless," Sirius interrupted him. "Especially not with that thing they did yesterday, with the fat-bottomed wicker lady, and the house being unplottable and everything. All I'm saying, is that if the Death Eaters know _we're_ not here, they won't really bother looking for this place. It's me they really want. And you."

"Sirius, if they _do_ come here…" Oh great. Now James was starting to freak out.

"If they _dare_ ," Sirius said firmly, "we'll just blow them into next week."

James bit his lip. He ruffled his hair while he thought about it for a moment, during which Sirius watched him in silence.

"Fair enough," he decided at length, nodding at Sirius. "Want to hit me up with apparition know-how?" he asked, dropping the subject, which was an answer in itself. "I'll trade you… Shielding Spells and Indoor Wards."

"Throw in your Dad's hexes and the water charms you were doing earlier and you've got yourself a deal."

.

* * *

.

"All right, pay close attention ye three," Angus boomed. They were out on the beachfront again, huddling in their cloaks. Fifty metres away, Mr. P was waiting for them, standing near three glowing rings, which were the points they were supposed to apparate to.

Since yesterday, when apparition had suddenly become an important thing to learn, they'd gone over the theory, then answered a myriad questions on every last bit of the process, and they'd apparated from one ring to another other at close range for ruddy _ages_.

James and Nina were sick of it, but Sirius was glad for the baby steps; it helped him overcome the apprehension he'd felt, over the possibility that he'd splinch himself again – because it still bloody hurt – and now he'd mastered turning on his left heel without a shred of doubt, he felt fairly certain that this was his new favourite _ever_ form of transportation. And now they were _finally_ ready to try it out at a bit of a distance.

"Ye need to focus on the spot ye want to go," he reminded them, his eyes boring into Nina's, who was the most excited and easily the most apprehensive about apparition. "Think of nothing else. James, ye go first."

James did, and Sirius got a flash of nerves before he turned, the _pop_ hardly audible in the wind, and felt a wave of relief when he appeared where he'd intended.

Sorta.

There was a _splash_ , and Sirius laughed out.

"Is he okay?" Nina asked, her eyes screwed shut.

"Yes, as long as he dries himself before he catches cold," Sirius confirmed. "He missed the ring though. By like, twenty feet."

From next to his Dad, James gave them the thumbs up, then went back to rubbing his arms up and down, while Mr. P dried him off and warmed him up with a couple of spells.

"Now you, lad," Angus boomed.

Sirius focused, but he was still thinking of James impersonating a fish as he turned on his heel— and slammed straight into him, toppling them both over with an, " _Oof_ —"

"You got the wrong ring," James wheezed, while Sirius waited for the world to stop spinning.

"You reckon?" Sirius, though winded, was grinning, but James' Dad picked them both up from the ground, alarmed.

"What happened there? Are you boys alright?"

"Yeah," Sirius gritted out, shaking his head to clear it. "James broke my fall. I just got distracted," he explained, letting the old wizard check him over, and was thankfully declared okay enough for another go. "Let me go back and try again," he added, before James' Dad thought better of it and sent him back to bed. _Whoosh_. The next instant, he was standing next to Nina, a wide grin on his face.

"It's easier than what we were doing before," he assured her.

"You sure?"

Sirius nodded, "Yeah, it's like your uncle said, focus on landing in the ring."

"Show-off!" James hollered. This time, Sirius popped back up in his own ring. And the other one again, just because he could.

.

* * *

.

"Guys, it's Remus and Pete!" James called down the stairs that evening. Nina, who'd been playing chess with Sirius by the fire, offered him a hand up, and then helped him hobble up the stairs. Apparition wasn't possible inside the house, which right now, was a very inconvenient safety measure.

By the time they reached the room, Sirius was fairly breathless, and James was having an animated conversation with the other two Marauders.

"Hiya, lads!" Nina said brightly, bouncing on the bed to sit next to James.

"We were just wondering where you two were," Peter's voice came from the mirror, as Sirius lowered himself on James' other side with a groan.

"Downstairs," said Sirius, turning to James. "Next time, you bring the mirror down."

"I'm not your do-boy," James answered flippantly, grinning from ear to ear, while Sirius shakily tried to catch his breath. "What took you so long?"

"I _walked_ ," Sirius pointed out the obvious. "I'll fly next time."

He looked at his friends, who were beaming at them. Remus and Pete were both jockeying for a full view of the mirror; they seemed to be in high spirits, which resulted in a very jolty sort of image and several close-ups of their teeth. Peter had a bit of parsley stuck in his.

"What's up?" James asked.

"We're wondering when you're coming back," Remus answered. "There's this ongoing bet that you won't, and—"

"He's got one Galleon and he wants to invest it wisely," Peter chimed in.

"Sunday," James answered promptly. "After lunch. I get half of the proceeds."

"You're better, then?"

"All better, but my parents are incredibly awesome and are letting me get some well-deserved rest."

"What about you?" Peter asked Sirius.

"Technically on Monday," he answered, which they were instantly stoked over, "but I would bet my Galleon on James. At least, _he's_ a cert."

"Wait, you're not coming back?"

"Mum doesn't want to let her _widdle Pumpkin_ go," James said mockingly, making their friends laugh. "To be fair, he _could_ do with a couple more weeks' rest."

"You're starting to sound like her," Sirius groused.

"You're just sore 'cause she's cross at you," James retorted.

"Yeah, yeah, rub it in some more." Sirius inwardly cringed, though. Having James' Mum mad at him was worse than he'd ever thought, and he didn't know why that was at all. Back home, his mother had never been anything but rabid at him, and it had never really bothered him before. Mrs. P, though... _Gah_.

"Well, you have to admit they've got a point," Nina added. "You can hardly stand." Sirius just heaved a sigh and shook his head.

"I've got cabin fever," he complained to Remus. "And I'm stuck with _them_ all day."

"Oy!" Nina and James chorused.

"Aww, _Pumpkin_ misses us." Pete made some kissy noises at the mirror.

"Less and less by the minute," Sirius assured them dryly.

"Don't be such an ingrate," Remus chided at once.

"After all we did to save your sorry arse from the Ministry!" Pete exclaimed.

"Choo mean?" asked Sirius, cocking his head to the side.

"You _don't know_?" they chorused.

"Guess not."

"You didn't tell him?" Remus asked James, completely incredulous.

"He wasn't exactly lucid until yesterday," James pointed out.

"What are you talking about, I've been up for ages!"

"Three days, Padfoot, are _not_ ages," James argued.

"Especially if you spent two of those crooning at _all_ the pretty colours in the ceiling," Nina chimed in, smiling and distracting him yet again. It happened every so often as well. Like, every time he looked into her eyes. It was as though it flipped a switch, and shut down his brain.

"I _didn't_ —" Sirius protested, but loud laughter cut him off.

"Okay, okay, I give," he said a few moments later, when they continued sniggering like nutters. "What all have I missed?"

"You better get comfortable, Pumpkin, it'll be a long story."

.

* * *

.

"You sent the Aurors to the _Forest_?" They hadn't been lying, he had missed a _lot_.

"Technically, Lily did," Remus replied, grinning. Sirius stared.

"Lily? You mean… _Evans_?" he couldn't believe his ears.

"Yeah," Peter confirmed.

"She asked if she could help, so we told her to suggest the passage on the sixth floor…" Remus answered.

"…and say she heard strange noises coming from behind that tapestry with the cajoling unicorns."

Sirius and James burst out laughing.

"They surely ended up near the Acromantulas," Peter chortled.

"Nah, it caved in, remember?" Remus reminded them.

"Yeah. Prongs, you blasted the exit, didn't you?" said Sirius reminiscently.

"They were going to eat us!" James protested.

"That's one story I want to hear," Nina decided. "You'll tell me all about it later, won't you?"

"Sure thing, it's a great story." How James managed not to get all muddled when _he_ talked to Nina, Sirius didn't know. At least he was sure who would regale her with a grand tale of their exploits with the giant spiders.

"Still," Sirius said incredulously, managing to stay on point for once. " _Evans_?"

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" James asked, grinning.

"She even saved James from Snivellus that one time."

"But they're the bestest of best friends!" Sirius exclaimed. Was everything turned upside-down?

"Not anymore."

"Okay, hell has officially frozen over," Sirius decided, completely turned around. "Tell me everything and don't spare the details."

"Well," said Pete, "It all started that one time James gave Snivellus tentacles…"

.

* * *

.

As he found out, what had gone on at Hogwarts wasn't the only thing that was hard to believe, but James waited until they were both all tucked in that night to share one last jewel of information.

"Guess what my parents — although they're _our_ parents now, aren't they — do when we're not around."

"Dunno," Sirius answered, burying himself in his duvet. " _Sleep_?"

"Guess again," James prompted, rolling over in bed to look at him. He clearly hadn't reached his limit for the day yet, and was choosing to ignore the factoid that Sirius was slowly lapsing into much-needed torpor. "Although I suppose they _do_ sleep better when we aren't here," he added fairly, making Sirius snort. "C'mon, you'll _never_ guess."

Sirius humoured him, just because. He suggested anything and everything that crossed his mind; from wickerwork to bake sales to save the church's steeple, to tenpin bowling, to travelling with the Doctor, to birdwatching, to jive dancing, but none of the things he guessed even came _close_ to the answer a chortling James gave him when he gave up.

Sirius, who had been close to dozing, found himself starting awake with a jolt.

"The _Order of the Phoenix_?" he echoed, not sure he'd heard right.

"Yuh-huh," James answered proudly, sitting up in his bed, all excited like. "And get this— Moody's in it too, and old Angus."

"Your _Mum... and_ your _Dad_... are founders of the Order of the Phoenix," Sirius deadpanned. "Dude, I don't know what's weirder — Evans misleading the Aurors, or _this_."

"I know, right?" James bounded over, managing to miss Sirius' gammy leg by an inch and sitting cross-legged on the foot of his bed. "They've got this whole wicked, groovy, _secret_ life going on."

"I can't imagine your Mum sitting at a war council," Sirius admitted. "Mind you, she's _frightening_ when she gets angry."

"That's your own fault for jumping your bloody suicidal ideas on her first thing this morning," James decided, walking a tin containing their emergency candy stash from under a pile of board games and books. Sirius looked down, fiddling with a loose thread on his blanket. "You, my hard-headed brother, have a _lot_ to learn about being a Potter. You've got to be gentle when you break such news to her, y'know."

Sirius looked up and stared at him, mystified, so James elaborated.

"It's like when she gives you a bitter potion," Prongs explained patiently. "She never forgets to give you some honey after, yeah? That's how she likes things, haven't you noticed? She hates upsetting stuff, so if you have to break some bitter news, give her some sweetness to offset it, at least a bit."

"Right." That was, actually, useful information, but he felt rather worse out of it. "Thanks, Mr. Prongs."

"Be glad that she didn't go after you with her mother's iron pans."

Sirius chuckled, accepting the proffered square of Honeyduke's Fudge. James, he realised, was doing the same thing his Mum did; he felt a little less like a piece of dirt.

"I'm not even kidding," James told him seriously. "She bonked a Death Eater with one."

"No _way_."

"Yuh way. Knocked him right out. She wields her skillets with the rage of a thousand Potter dinners and the accumulated power of generations of Sunday roasts."

"I'll make sure not to cross her in the kitchen, then," Sirius promised, but he didn't want to make her angry again, ever. He'd put his foot in it, hadn't he? "Do you think she'll stay —"

"Nah," James interrupted bracingly before he could finish asking. "She bloody _adores_ you for some reason, Pumpkin. Even if you're stupid sometimes. Just give her a hug when you see her next and apologise for worrying her."

Sirius smiled, a bit self-conscious now. That was something he'd intended to do anyway - minus, maybe, the hug, because he wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of dealing those out - but it was reassuring to hear that he wasn't too far off the mark for once.

"I'll do that, Darling Boy."

"Oh, hush, honey."

.

* * *

.

The Slytherin common room was darkened, and even the last stragglers had gone to bed. Severus rubbed his eyes tiredly, closing the Occlumency book and putting it in his bookbag with a sigh.

His forearm stung and hurt, even if a week had passed since he'd become a part of the Death Eaters, but it was a small price to pay for the sudden popularity he had gained.

For the first time ever, he was hanging out with other people, who followed _him_. He was aware that they were supportive of Voldemort, that a few of them would join the Death Eaters when they graduated, but none had yet, and they admired him for having been chosen.

He'd been busy as anything since he became a Death Eater; the Dark Lord given him an important task, after all. He was supposed to watch Potter's friends, to see when he would return, and also, to look for weak spots in the castle and grounds.

Every night, he was to send a letter to the Dark Lord, with the day's news, and it was this what he was going to do now.

Where Severus had never really been interested in anything that other people did, now he spent all his time listening in on conversations, even _participating_ in a stupid betting game. He'd felt so ridiculous, doing all that, but paid off in the end, because just earlier, he'd overheard Pettigrew telling Lily that Potter would return after lunchtime on Sunday, and then he'd confirmed it when Lupin went to Wagtail to place his bet.

The Dark Lord would be pleased.

.

* * *

TBC, don't forget to comment!

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Come rain or high water, I'm sending the boys to school. Starting with James, I solemnly swear, I had this whole thing planned out before he went all adorable.
> 
> What didn't make it into this chapter but will surely come up next: Sirius apologises to Betty, and thus lets everyone breathe easy again, because she's got skillets and she's not afraid to use them. Voldemort finally gets some screen time because he's evil and I miss him, Coop sends an important letter, Sirius comes to terms with his condition as a cyborg, Nina makes it clear what she wants in life, Remus wins a bet, and Coop loses… Sirius.
> 
> Until next week!


	18. Friends in Low Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: James goes to school! Yay! Sirius finally says the L word to a female he greatly cares for and starts dishing out hugz, Voldemort finally gets some results, McGonagall gets a letter that upends her applecart, Nina has an outburst, Sirius wins a bet, and Coop loses Sirius. Totally not in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm going to start going by bits: Honeydukes isn't mine.

* * *

**Part Eighteen: Friends in Low Places**

* * *

Betty stole into the boys' room, careful not to wake them. It was the middle of the night, and she sincerely hoped that for once, Sirius at least wouldn't wake up.

Well.

So much for that: he was sitting by the window.

"Mrs. P?"

"Trouble sleeping?" she asked him at a whisper. Sirius nodded. In the flickering candlelight, he looked miserable.

"Mrs. P, there's something I need to tell you."

"What's the matter?" she asked, instantly concerned.

"I… I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry, for… for upsetting you."

"Sirius, _honestly_ —" she started, exasperated, but she didn't get any further; it was hard to stay mad at him, even though what she was angry over was more than understandable, as she saw it.

"I just… I don't want anything to happen to you or Mr. P," he told her quietly. "I know what you're risking, just by letting me stay. Mr. P already nearly died, and—"

"And he _didn't_. You _saved_ him, Sirius," she finished for him, her anger beginning to fade quite despite herself. She just couldn't stay cross at him, much less when he was giving her that heartbreaking puppy dog look.

"I got lucky," he corrected wretchedly, without raising his voice so much as a fraction. "And it's not even that, I… I…" he stopped, clearly hunting for the words. Betty watched him, letting him sort out his thoughts.

"I just don't want to lose you," he said in a tiny voice, after an inward struggle. "I _can't_. Not _you_ , or Mr. P, or James… If anything happens to you, I, I _couldn't—_ " he cut himself off, as if the mere thought were too much to bear; Betty felt the same way. "And I can't stop thinking about it," he admitted miserably, "because… because I love you, and I know what he _does_ , what he'd do to you, and—"

And he never got to finish, because she had him wrapped in a big hug before he could.

"Oh, sweetheart," she told him softly, holding him close in an attempt at comfort; what he needed, she wasn't sure she could give, because it was the same crippling sort of fear she was constantly plagued by. "Can't you see that's exactly why we don't want you to go alone? Do you think I could bear losing you any more than you could us?"

"No, Mrs. P." He admitted at a mumble. "But… but you _won't_ ," he added, pulling away and looking at her. "You won't, I _swear_. I'll be careful and everything, and they won't _ever_ find me."

"How can you know that?"

"I just do."

.

* * *

.

James woke up to an empty room and laughter trailing from downstairs. He stretched, a little perplexed by the feelings he was getting through Sirius' end of the line. Today, his best friend was pleased with the world. Very.

Sirius had apologised, then, and his — _their_ — Mum was happy once more.

He found it relieving.

He also found that he was rather woefully late for breakfast, so he bounded out of bed and hurried through his morning routine — he didn't want to make his Mum cross either — and went downstairs, to join his family in what already promised to be a better day than before.

And the smells coming from the kitchen were making his mouth water. Whatever his Mum was making, it smelled _heavenly_.

"So what happened next?" Nina was asking as he got to the kitchen, her eyes glinting with amusement. She was sitting at the table, next to his Mum, who was laughing and drinking some tea.

"What d'you think?" Sirius asked. To James' surprise, _he_ was manning the stove, flipping an omelet over with a flick of his wrist and wiggling his fingers to make a stack of pancakes fly off the griddle and onto a platter. "We were totally out of luck, trying to blend in with the wall. I kept trying to think of a camouflage spell and couldn't, so I sort of made one up on the spot."

James remembered this story vividly.

"He got it wrong and made us all glow neon colours," he supplied from the doorway with a grin. "And there was this _smell_ , you wouldn't believe it— morning, Mum," he gave his smiling Mum a peck on the cheek, sitting down at the table. "Hiya, Nina."

"There's always a smell, isn't there?" she mused, making Sirius laugh and snapping her fingers to make a cup of tea pour itself.

"Usually wherever _he's_ involved, there's a smell," James warned, nodding at Sirius, who turned to raise an eyebrow at him. "I'll have scrambled eggs and spinach salad, Pumpkin."

"You're getting 'shroom omelet and pancakes, Darling Boy," Sirius replied, making a swirling motion with his fingers — he was _totally_ showing off, no doubt about that — that made the plates serve themselves and fly towards them a moment later.

"Didn't know you could cook."

"I'm surprised you _can't_ , after a million detentions in the Kitchens," Pumpkin replied, busying himself on the stove again. He was exuding energy today, which made it easier to try and overlook the bandaging peeking out under his collar and the loss of his usual grace when he moved around. Both were something they had all gotten used to, but nobody liked it, so watching him show off his cooking skills was encouraging. There was something else sizzling a moment later, and yet more mouth-watering smells floated to James' nose.

"So, what happened next?" Nina asked, pouring some maple syrup on her pancakes.

"We got into an epic row," Sirius answered. James was surprised he hadn't gotten tongue-tied. He usually just stammered out a few words whenever Nina was asking him direct questions lately, and lost his train of thought left and right. "And Filch had found the dancing suits of armour, right, so there was this huge racket just around the corner, and us glowing in the dark, arguing and shoving and trying to undo my botched spell."

"And then Remus got like, incredibly mad and pushed me against the wall," James added, digging in. His food was very, very tasty. "I went right through."

Sirius chuckled. "I thought the wall had eaten him," he said, making Nina laugh a little uncertainly.

"But there aren't any people-eating walls at Hogwarts, are there?"

"Only on the second floor," James and Sirius chorused.

"But no," added Sirius, now heaping an assortment of toppings for the pancakes on a platter and approaching the table at a slow hobble. "This one was a tunnel." He gingerly lowered himself onto his chair, and his Mum placed a bunch of potions in front of him at once.

"What did you do?" she asked, as curious as Nina.

"We all piled in, of course. Anything was better than being ambushed by Filch and his cat, at the time."

"Yeah, but we feared the cat would smell us, because we smelled like…"

"Rotting shrimp," Sirius supplied, with a wink at Nina.

"So it's like, a _thing_ , then?"

"Just a coincidence."

"Anyway, we _stank_. So, we followed the tunnel, but it got awfully narrow, yeah?"

"Pete kept getting stuck," Sirius said reminiscently, and they both laughed.

"He's not _that_ plump," their Mum protested.

"He was in his chubbier phase," James answered, swallowing a bite. "No, _honest_ , he was as wide as he was tall, in Third Year," he assured her. "But we oiled him up and he squeezed through. We sort of walked for aeons, and then we saw this light, right?"

"We thought we'd reached an exit, but it was just a bunch of glow worms."

"Which incidentally, Acromantulas love to eat."

"And we looked exactly like glow worms ourselves."

"Which the Acromantulas loved at once."

"Especially Pete, and he _hates_ spiders."

"At least _he's_ not allergic to them."

"But we got Remus out of there before he got completely disfigured," Sirius assured Nina.

"There were Acromantulas _in the tunnel_?" Nina asked, looking at Sirius with wide eyes. Sirius looked back at her — and the PISS reared up its head, cackling evilly.

"Uh…"

 _Aha_. Suddenly James understood why Sirius had made them breakfast; it was to avoid looking directly at her.

"No," said James, shaking his head and answering for his tongue-tied friend. "We did find the exit to the tunnel, a bit beyond the worm things, but the exit was in the middle of the Forbidden Forest. And there were like, a million gargantuan spiders, all staring at us."

"How did you get away?"

"Er… we…" Sirius blinked and finally tore his eyes away from staring at Nina like an idiot.

"We ran, of course," James reminded him, unable to keep a straight face.

"Of course."

James decided he'd ask his parents for a camera. Sirius' expression was _priceless_.

"But Remus started sneezing, right, and then he started like, growing lumps."

"Lumps, yeah. And… and like, wheezing."

"We thought he'd gotten bitten, but it was just an allergy."

"What did you do?"

"It was bedlam," James said, grinning. "The Acromantulas were hot after us, and Sirius and I were carrying Remus, but then Pete got stuck _again_ and we had to like, shove him through the narrower bits."

"Did you get bitten?" Nina asked Sirius, grabbing his arm and evidently disconnecting his brain again.

"Er… Uh."

"No," James reminded him helpfully.

"That. Yeah."

"Sirius had to keep tackling Pete. He popped him out of the other side of the narrow bit like a cork."

"He even bounced," Sirius supplied, as though he were only remembering it now.

"And the spiders were all busy eating the worms, so I blasted the tunnel and sealed the exit."

"And made it even _narrower_."

"Ha ha, yeah, but it _worked_. We had to keep shoving Pete; he got stuck every few steps."

"But we got away," Sirius seemed to have regained his speech skills.

"From the _spiders_ ," James clarified.

"Yeah, we ran straight into Filch and his cat on our way to the Hospital Wing."

"And guess what this dolt gave as an excuse when we got caught?" James couldn't let this one go. "He went and told Filch that we'd all contracted a rare case of _Scrofungulus_! We were quarantined for three days before the nurse realised we weren't even ill."

"At least I got us a break," said Sirius with satisfaction. "And she cured Remus' allergy."

"Maybe, but then we got like a _million_ detentions."

"And that's how I learned to cook," Sirius finished.

.

* * *

.

The porch of the house was magically warmed, which allowed them to enjoy some time outside without having to freeze. The charms didn't extend to the beach, but she could tell that her boys didn't mind the cold so much anymore.

It was Thursday, thus ending the first week they'd spent in Blackpool. Watching her boys, it was hard to believe that only seven days ago, both had been on the brink of death and quite incapable of moving; James had fully healed after the Imbolc, and she was so grateful for it, but Sirius' change was perhaps the most marked: he'd been bedridden for so long it had been almost perplexing to see him getting to his feet every morning, which again, she had the goddess to thank for.

And his stubbornness.

He wasn't quite healed yet, but he _was_ much better, and she hoped that he'd let himself recover fully before he returned to school.

She hoped, but she knew he wouldn't, would he? He'd told her why a couple of days ago, and she had to respect his reasons. Betty wished he wouldn't push himself so hard, but even she couldn't deny that Poppy was right. After forty gruelling days, he was finally well enough to go to school.

Coop and Angus were working with the kids, and though she had been promised that they wouldn't work them too hard, they all got carried away and stopped only after she broke things up and all but hexed them to troop inside for their meals.

She watched as Coop conjured a red ball out of thin air, his voice carrying easily to her ears.

"Okay, you've got static apparition down, now you'll learn battle apparition."

All three kids perked up, instantly curious.

"I'll throw the ball, and you'll apparate to catch it, then throw it for the next to catch. Ready? Go!" Coop tossed the ball towards the waterfront, and Nina disapparated with a crack, catching the ball in midair and throwing it towards the house. James went next, flawlessly, and Sirius intercepted it before it had gone ten metres, backhanding it away from Nina again.

"They're improving, aren't they?" Albus asked. He had promised he'd visit them today, but he startled her all the same.

"They're very driven," she answered. "It's like they want to become Hit Wizards before they return to school."

"When is that going to occur?" the Headmaster asked her curiously.

"Sunday night, for James. Sirius will be there Monday morning, although if it were up to me, I'd make him stay here another week at least."

"Three days?" Albus' eyes twinkled. "Don't they sleep?"

"I'm sure they wouldn't, if I weren't here. But I _make_ them," Betty replied with a smile. "I also force them to take breaks and play board games and eat their veggies."

"Health-wise?" Albus wondered.

"Oh, James is golden. Poppy promised she'll erase as much as she can of those hideous scars he still has, but he's healthy as anything. Sirius, though…" she sighed heavily. "He pushes himself too hard, and he's getting better, but… There's still a ways to go."

"Poppy will make sure he heals completely."

"I'm sure she will," she answered, watching them start on a version of apparition dodge ball, "but I wish I could keep him here a little longer. He needs it, but he doesn't seem to want to acknowledge it."

They watched the fast-paced game unfold, which soon started incorporating spells as well as coloured balls.

Coop and Angus were the attackers, while the kids had to try and take them out. Betty watched them with nostalgia; they were having a blast out of it, and reminded her of the little boys she'd always adored, except they used to make walking sand animals to chase each other around, rather than hexing each other.

"They'll be fine, Betty."

"Oh, I know they will, Albus," she replied, even as Sirius used a levitation spell to propel himself behind her husband, to cast a netting charm together with James, who was on the other side. "I pity whoever dares to try to hurt them again."

.

* * *

.

The relative quiet of the house was broken by two voices that had not shaken the foundations for entirely too long; Nina and Angus hadn't had an argument in at least three days.

Apparently they had decided to triple the intensity of today's one to make up for it. It was making their oversensitive ears ache.

"Should we do something?" Sirius asked James, cringing a little behind _The Duellist's Deadliest Defences_.

James, who was lying on the rug by the fireplace in their bedroom and trying to muddle his way through _When the Dark Forces Attack: 1001 Things Every Auror Should Know_ , looked up at his friend.

"And face an irate Angus? I'm not _that_ suicidal."

"I just feel like it's getting out of hand."

James let out a startled laugh, "You mean, it hadn't _before_?"

Sirius shrugged one shoulder. He was confined to bed again, until it was time to change his bandages before dinner; he'd gone overboard practising a Tsunami Charm with James earlier, and it had been so much fun that they turned it into an outright water elementals duel— not that James was stupid enough to hit Sirius with anything that could actually _hurt_ him, but they'd both had more fun than ever and ended up drenched. His — _their,_ he reminded himself to keep the pronoun updated — Mum had marched them both off the beach to get hot baths and fussed over Sirius, and then gave them mugs of hot chocolate and warned them against leaving the room until she returned.

 _Or else_.

James wasn't about to cross her, and although he privately believed she was overdoing it a bit where he was concerned, his midriff and right leg did still sting on and off when he overexerted himself, and he couldn't imagine it was any different for Sirius, who still had a few deep gashes on his side and back that would open when he least expected it, giving everyone a scare. And Sirius, for all that he was loads better, had clearly pushed himself a bit too far earlier.

Besides, it wasn't as though James was about to leave him for a minute anyway; he usually kept him company during his enforced bed rest and made sure he didn't brood. Because he was starting to again, ever since the nurse had discontinued his loopy potions.

Not that the McAlpin argument downstairs was helping them rest; it really did sound as though they could shout the house to splinters.

"You reckon they'll ever sort themselves out?" Sirius wondered.

"Dunno," James responded, and both boys cringed again as Angus boomed:

"What is it with ye, lass? I already said ye can go in September, and _yeh're still no' happy_!"

"I'm _not_ waiting until _September_!"

"IT'S NO' SAFE!"

"You keep saying that, but you don't really know—"

"Have ye looked at _James_? That happened at Hogwarts! What if it happens to ye too?"

"There's another five hundred kids in that school and they're perfectly all right! _Gah_! You're just like my dad!"

"Come back here, young lady—"

There was a lot of stomping next, and to their shock and surprise, Nina stormed into _their_ room and slammed the door shut. She was crying, honest-to-Merlin _crying_ , and the boys exchanged an uneasy glance.

"He won't even _listen_ ," Nina sobbed, and James jerked his head towards her, eyes fixed on Sirius' own.

_Do something, Padfoot!_

Sirius swallowed. Stared at James.

_What?!_

James could tell his friend wanted nothing more than to help, but he was at a loss as to _how_. Even James, who didn't suffer from the Black Hands-Off syndrome, had no clue; but he knew that Sirius ought to do _something_. So he told him.

 _Just do_ _**something** _ _, quick!_

Sirius got out of bed, shuffling towards her. His half concerned, half panicking expression was funny to look at, but James didn't feel like mocking. Were this _Lily_ , and were he approaching _her_ , he'd be wearing his tail tucked between his legs and his best, widest deer-in-the-headlights stare. And he wasn't sure he'd even make it all the way to her side.

As it were, Sirius didn't perform too badly, PISS and panic and all. He did get all tongue-tied, so he wordlessly stuck out his hand and found hers, and led her to sit on James' bed.

Neither of them expected her to wrap her arms around him and start sobbing in earnest; it was clearly more than Sirius had bargained for.

 _Oh Merlin, I only made it worse!_ Sirius yelled in James' head. _**What do I do now**_ _?_

 _You're asking me?! I don't know!_ James was thinking on his feet, as it were. _Rub her back or something, maybe it'll calm her down— yeah, like that._

A few moments passed, during which James just stared in shock and Sirius tried to untie the knot around his vocal cords.

 _Why is this sort of thing so bloody complicated?_ Sirius was struggling here; but then, so was James.

_Mate, I don't know. But you're doing good, I think. Has she stopped crying?_

_No, she's still going. But the back rub seems to be working._ Sirius gave a mental sigh. _And they say duelling Death Munchers is hard. This is worse!_

 _Yeah, I hear you._ _At least with the Munchers there's no doubt as to what they'll do._

_Munchers can be fought! What can anyone do about this?_

_Yeah, and there's like, books to figure out how to get it done._

They remained silent for a while, though, listening to the heartbroken sobbing — and in Sirius' case, getting drenched yet again — but still neither had a clue what to do next.

"Why are you so upset over not going to Hogwarts now?" Sirius asked her at length, when he could trust himself to speak in more than disconnected sounds.

"I just… I feel like, like it'll happen again," Nina sniffled against his shoulder. James was completely lost.

"Yeah, I know the feeling," Sirius murmured. He had understood what the underlying problem was, in ways James still could not; he could sense Sirius' concern started winning out, but he was unclear as to why. "Have you told your uncle about it?"

Nina shook her head, still sniffling. At least the weeping was subsiding; neither really knew what to do about _that_.

"He gets all… well, you heard."

"Yeah…" Sirius was quiet for a moment, then added, "But maybe, maybe it's not because he doesn't _want_ to listen, maybe he's worried you'll have a harder time at school, and he wants to, dunno, make sure you're okay before you go?"

"But I'm okay," Nina argued, pulling away to look at Sirius though tear-fogged eyes. He gave her a sad look that told volumes.

"We both know that isn't true," he said, in a gentle tone that was so _unlike_ him— and yet, it was pure, undiluted _Sirius_. James suddenly knew, without a doubt, his friend was loads better than he'd thought; Sirius' inner self at least, was. It was encouraging. "Not yet."

"But I feel like a sitting duck at home," Nina said. She sounded miserable. "When I'm in Dal Riada, I can't really sleep, and I'm constantly expecting them to show up and—"

"I know. But that doesn't mean it's going to happen," Sirius tried to assure her, but he was thinking that he couldn't do that, not really, not without lying to her. Suddenly James understood as well. He knew Sirius felt the same way, after all, and wasn't he pushing himself so hard to go back to school because he feared the same thing she did?

"It happened to _you_ ," she murmured, and Sirius held her close again; and what do you know, it seemed to be the thing to do.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean it has to happen to you," James told her, deciding to pitch in and help. "I mean, old Angus is, like, totally _badass_."

"The Munchers would have to be very stupid to go against him," Sirius agreed gently.

"He's at work every day, and Aunt Jeanie is often gone too," Nina argued back, but her voice was subdued. Defeated. "Don't get me wrong— they're awesome, and I love them more than anything, but it's not really _home_ , you know? Besides, it's the same thing that happened, with my dad, before—"

"I understand," Sirius told her. "But, wouldn't Hogwarts be even less like home?"

"If I go to Hogwarts, there's _you_ ," Nina answered earnestly, looking at Sirius, and then at James, adding, "both of you, and Remus and Peter, and with you, I feel at home."

Both boys stared at her, not knowing what to say to that. Even their ongoing mental conversation had gone silent.

In the end, they didn't need to say anything. Nina wiped her eyes, accepting a hanky James conjured out of thin air. She was still leaning against Sirius, who seemed quite content to hold her now, and was looking at her with something akin to wonder; or bewilderment, James couldn't tell.

"There's classes and Quidditch and all sorts of things that sound so amazing when you tell the stories," Nina murmured, "but when you both leave, I'll be by myself again. And I'd rather be with you than in Dal Riada."

"You might try telling Angus that," Sirius suggested. "I'm sure if he knew, he'd understand."

"But he gets all worked up at once—"

"Maybe, but to be fair, so do you." Sirius gave her a lopsided smile. "It takes two to fight."

"And yelling rarely gets a point across," James supplied sagely. Hadn't Googles told him that very thing a million times? And she was _old_. She knew… stuff.

"Aren't you two full of wisdom," Nina said with a small laugh of her own. "I guess I should go and apologise," she decided, straightening up — Sirius felt instantly bereft, James noted — and drying her face.

"That won't be necessary, lass," Angus' voice said from the doorway, making them give a start. None had noticed that the old wizard had come in. James was relieved that he didn't even seem angry; he looked tired as he stepped inside. "Is that really how you feel?"

Nina nodded, not looking her uncle in the eye. She hadn't let go of Sirius' hand, James noted with a little satisfaction.

Angus regarded her for a moment, then fixed his sharp blue eyes on Sirius, who snapped to attention at once.

"And yeh'll look after her?" Really, did he have to _ask_?

"Yes, of course."

"And ye, lad?" James smiled, sensing where this was going.

"Consider it done, Angus."

"Every day?"

"All day, every day," Sirius confirmed with a grin, giving Nina's hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Well, in that case, we'll leave tomorrow."

"What?" Sirius couldn't believe his ears.

"Where?" Neither could James.

" _Why_?" Nina asked.

Angus' eyes twinkled.

"Why, to get yer books and uniforms, of course. Yeh'll need a broomstick too, and—" and he got no further; she had thrown herself at him, and was clearly sobbing again. The old wizard laughed, patting her back.

 _Good thing he's here, eh?_ James silently asked Sirius.

 _Yeah… I couldn't have handled another of those — whatchacallits. Girls are weird_ , he established.

_Which we already knew…_

_But nice. Or maybe it's just her?_

_Wha, weird or nice?_ James' eyes were dancing with amusement.

 _Both. But more of the latter_.

_You're hopeless, Padfoot. Stick to duelling, you might fare better._

' _Choo mean?_

.

* * *

.

Minerva stared at the scroll she had just received, too incredulous for words. The owl that had dropped the letter off under her nose hooted and took off, without bothering to wait for a reply.

Minerva couldn't blame it at all.

What _could_ she reply to this?

If she had her way, she could maybe respond with a rotund, _No._

Maybe even, _Hell, no._

She took a deep breath, and read the missive once more. As if by doing so, it could've magically have changed its contents.

_Dear Minerva,_

_I hope this letter finds you well and in high spirits; we greatly enjoyed having you over for the Imbolc, and sincerely hope we can soon repeat the experience._

_Betty sends her regards and hopes we can visit you soon, during the next Hogsmeade Weekend._

_As you may already have heard, the boys are much improved, and we are happy to report that they shall be returning to school soon. This fills us with relief, however we are filled with a little anxiety as well, because, as you know, the boys have reached that important age where they have come to notice girls, and it is in our particular interest to educate them further regarding the fairer sex that so draws their fancy of late. You know as well as we do how eager and impetuous they can be, and how important it is to educate them regarding the responsibility that one such relationship might entail._

_While we understand that this might come as a surprise to you, there is no-one else we would entrust with this most delicate matter, nor is there anyone whom the lads have a greater respect for than yourself. Therefore, we would be greatly in your debt if you could do us the service of teaching them responsibility and caution on such matters, relationships, and other nuances that their adolescent minds have hereto been dwelling on._

_Also, I am happy to inform you that our mutual friend Angus has decided to allow his niece to attend Hogwarts, under the condition that she too, shall be privy to your wisdom and cautionary words on this most delicate matter._

_Again, we cannot express our gratitude enough, and urge you to aid us in dealing with our children._

_With our warmest regards and greatest gratitude, I remain in your debt,_

_Fleamont C. Potter, Esq._

_P.S. Maybe it would also be wise to bring one Lily Evans into the fold, as it were. It could perhaps, be of a great convenience to all those involved._

She pursed her lips.

No, the contents _hadn't_ changed. They were exactly the same as the three previous times she had read the blasted thing.

Minerva let the scroll fall on her desk, pinching the bridge of her nose. Convoluted as the wording was, she wasn't fooled by the obvious buttering up, nor the highly unpleasant task she had just been saddled with. Because she _would_ do it, there was no use fooling herself. On account of who was asking, and what they'd been through. But really, there was a host of things she'd rather do for the Potters, instead of _this_.

 _Sex Ed_.

She groaned, wishing she did the same as old Kettleburn and kept a bottle of Old Ogden's in her bottom drawer. All hers held was catnip, and it wasn't hitting the spot of late.

Minerva heaved a sigh, her lips an impossibly thin line, as she pulled a fresh sheaf of parchment out of her drawer and started writing. It wasn't a reply to her old friend; she was placing an order to the Three Broomsticks.

She was supposed to give _James Potter and Sirius Black sex ed_. Because clearly, their parents did not _dare_.

Minerva frowned at her parchment, deciding to order a crate of Ogden's, not just the one bottle. She was certain that she would need it.

.

* * *

.

The eighth of February dawned as cold as the previous days had, but it wasn't the low temperatures that made Sirius feel chilly.

In reality, he was just worried.

Today, James would go back to Hogwarts, and everyone was on edge; mostly because the Lord Thingy hadn't shown any signs of life since the twelve attacks on London, and nobody fooled themselves into thinking it was because he _wasn't_ looking for them. He _had_ to be planning something, and Sirius felt it in his gut — whatever it was, it would be _big_.

Today, also happened to be the day he'd do the test run of the apparition route he and Mr. P had planned. If nothing happened, by breakfast tomorrow he'd be back at school, and if _that_ went well, he'd stay there and have dinner with his friends in the Great Hall. If it _didn't_ , he'd be in Azkaban instead, and have dinner with the Dementors.

Or, he mused, he'd end up in Voldemort's dungeon and then he'd _become_ dinner.

 _No pressure, then,_ he thought wryly, oiling up his squeaky leg brace with a tap of his fingers and limping outside, the spellbook he'd been reading vanishing in the pocket of his robes. It was still early, James was still asleep, and Sirius didn't want to wake him up.

James' Dad was in the front room, poring over a very large magical map of the British Isles. On it, were nine bright red dots, which Sirius could list in his sleep by now. There were others, of course, but those he focused on were the nine stops along the route of his trip to Hogwarts.

Mr. P would side-along apparate him to each of them, so he'd know without a doubt where to go; from Cardiff Castle, to Dover, to Brighton, then Manchester, Edinburgh, a sleepy Midlands town called Weobley, York, Avebury, and, if he couldn't Floo or take the Knight Bus from there, a boulder at the edge of the Forest near Hogsmeade, from which he'd have an easy five-minute walk to the castle. Or the town, should the Ministry still be guarding the gates.

"Do you think we can do our test run before they wake up?" Mr. P asked him, as he joined him. He looked tense.

Sirius was all for it, and moments later they made their way to the beach.

"This time we'll apparate together, and later, we'll go again, separately. Do you need to look at the map again?"

"Nah, I'm good." Sirius shook his head, and Mr. P pocketed the map and held on to him. Blackpool vanished.

Despite Sirius' many protests, Mr. P would go with him all the way to the underground Edinburgh street, and Sirius would then take the last four leaps alone. Timing was important; the first four stops had to be taken one after another, fast enough to confuse any sort of tracking. The next two, in Muggle towns and cities, required them to walk someplace else before apparating again, in case they had been tracked down; they would part ways in Edinburgh, and then, Sirius would hop on to the Midlands and make sure he wasn't followed, and from there to York, where he'd cross the old town from the Minster to the river, and from there to Avebury.

Meanwhile, the Potters would go to Diagon Alley, to run some errands and meet up with Caradoc Dearborn's dad for lunch at the Leaky Cauldron.

They had to be seen out in public, especially during the times when Sirius would himself be seen somewhere else in the country; that was why they'd picked the Avebury mill. A wizarding family lived there, the Boneses, and Sirius was hoping they wouldn't really mind letting him use their Floo to Hogsmeade. In the best of cases, he could then make his way to Hogwarts from there. In the worst-case scenario, he'd have to apparate to Hogsmeade, go to Madam Rosmerta's to be seen, then Floo or take a tunnel to Hogwarts before either the Ministry or Death Eaters got a hold of him. He was only supposed to take the Knight Bus if he ran into more trouble than he could handle along the way, or if he got lost. Mrs. P had wanted to meet Mr. Dearborn at the Three Broomsticks, but instead Angus and his wife Jeanie would just so happen to be there, after enrolling Nina in school and things.

Sirius hadn't really planned for any of them to be out in the open, but it had become a full-blown operation. Though he had to admit, it _was_ reassuring that they had all agreed to do it. Even Dumbledore would be ready to stall the Aurors or step in if things got hairy.

The wind whipped their robes as they arrived on top of the aptly-named Black Tower in Cardiff, overlooking the busy Welsh capital. It was quite nice to stand up here, unnoticed by anyone, but they didn't linger. A few moments later, they were in Dover, seawater spraying in their faces. Another few, and they were standing beside a shop in Brighton, then in the stands of an empty Muggle football stadium in Manchester.

The next instant, they were in a dark underground tunnel, which, so James' Dad had told him, had once been a busy street that had ended up being walled in by the surrounding houses; as time passed, apparently people just… forgot about it.

Gods, it _stank_.

Sirius lit a handful of flames, which danced eerily off smoke-blackened walls as he made them float around. It was mind-blowing to him that an entire street had gotten _lost_.

These Muggles, really.

"Here, we walk," said Mr. P, putting a hand on his shoulder, his voice echoing off the high vaulted ceiling.

The old wizard pointed out several niches — one-time hovels of poor people, or even shops that had once lined the street — which they could potentially use to protect themselves against an equally potential attack.

"What happened here, Mr. P?" Sirius asked in awe, as the flames glanced off a pile of skeletons in one of the larger, chamber-like recesses.

"There was a fire, I think," said Mr. P, quietly. "These vaults were mostly used by the poorest, the most destitute when I was a child. It was a pit of criminals and smugglers, when I was young, rife with disease after they built all those tall buildings around it; once, in 1852 I believe, a plague broke out, and they quarantined the people here… they walled them in, the whole street. And a fire broke out at some point, leaving the place like this. The Muggles have forgotten it, as has almost everyone else."

Convenient as this was for them right now, Sirius found it sad and very disturbing that all those people had died in a panic and without any hope, and instead of getting help they'd been trapped in this terrible place, without even a grave to their name. It made him realise that Muggles and Wizards were more alike than people claimed; both seemed to have a problem with those who were _different,_ those who didn't fall in step with the rest.

They left the ugly, stuffy vault behind, turning a few corners that showed signs of ancient habitation and had been undisturbed for a long time. He was surprised that there were ghosts here at all; who'd have wanted to stay here? Surely whatever came after had to be better than haunting this dismal, depressing and dreary bunch of streets.

"Ah'll skin yeh aloive, laddie!" One of the ghosts snarled, appearing close to his face and making him stop in his tracks. "Make 'nuther notch on me stave!" A quarterstaff was waved in his face. It was riddled with cuts.

Maybe the ghosts here were afraid to move on; that one at least, probably was.

"Don't dawdle, son. We have a long ways to go yet." Mr. P had gone another twenty paces, and was waiting for him up ahead.

"Sorry," Sirius muttered to the stunned ghost, who repeatedly tried to whack him over the head without consequence as he hurried to catch up with James' Dad at a limp. "That won't work."

"Eh, it was a long shot any-a-ways."

"Yeah," Sirius told him as he went.

"What's yer name, then, boyo?"

"Sirius."

"I'm known's Auld Jock," the ghost introduced himself. "The South Bridge Killer."

"That's an impressive name." Auld Jock drew himself up proudly.

"Aye, and well-earnt. Yeh's hidin' from the coppers, then?"

"Yeah."

"Yeh found the best place. So whatcha wanted fer?"

"Murder."

The ghost laughed heartily, drawing the attention of other silvery figures floating around the vaults.

"Yeh ain't dun _moider_ ," the ghost guffawed, and Sirius stopped. "Yeh dun' have the _stain_!" He pointed at his chest, where a black spot took up most of his midriff. Other ghosts had it too, he noticed, in different sizes but always smack in the middle of the chest. "Yer just a _bairn_!"

"Well, I've been framed," Sirius explained with a grin. "I'm really innocent."

An approving rumble ran through the group of ghosts. Apparently most of them could sympathise.

"Ah, ah ken a ting or tree abou' tha'," the ghost said.

"You've been framed too?" Sirius asked curiously. The ghosts were all circling him now, clearly this was the most entertainment they'd gotten in decades.

"Naw, ah've framed _others_ fer me deeds. Six men hung b'cos of me, ah added them notches ter me staff." Sirius looked at them.

"Sirius, run along now," Mr. P admonished.

"See you around," Sirius told them.

"Yeh's comin' back?" The ghosts asked excitedly.

"Tomorrow," he promised, waving his goodbyes.

Mr. P had selected an empty, roomy vault for Sirius to apparate away from, and, as he'd done each time, he allowed Sirius a few moments to memorise the location, before whisking him off to the next.

Crisp fresh air buffeted Sirius in the face, as they popped up outdoors. They both sucked in huge lungfuls of it, grateful to have left the ugliness of the Edinburgh Vaults behind.

"This is Weobley," Mr. P told him. They'd appeared in a small cluster of trees, close to a small cobbled street. "That's the Red Lion, you can have a bit of a sit-down there if you're not being followed — Alastor will be inside, but do not approach him if you see him, unless he approaches you. He'll make sure that if you're followed all this way, he'll draw the Death Eaters to him."

Mr. P pulled out the map, then pointed up a nearby hill.

"If you're in danger, get up there before you apparate to York," he instructed, marking the hill in blue on the map. "The Death Eaters will surely gather there, and Alastor can trap them after you apparate out."

"Do you reckon they could follow the route?"

"I was _sure_ that they couldn't possibly get into Godric's Hall," Mr. P said dryly. "I'm not making that mistake ever again, and you shouldn't either; always work with worst-case scenarios in mind, and always," the hazel eyes — so much like James' — bored into his intensely. " _Always_ have a backup plan for your backup plan. Something others won't _ever_ expect."

Sirius decided to take this advice to heart.

They apparated onto the hilltop, then back to the trees, and then Sirius found himself standing atop the York Minster for a few moments, before landing amid a circle of Neolithic stones, surrounded by sheep. They'd reached Avebury, found the mill, and then apparated to the spot outside Hogsmeade which would be Sirius' last stop, but they didn't linger; it was time for breakfast, and they didn't want to worry anyone.

"Are you sure that you'll remember all these places?" Mr. P asked as they landed back exactly where they'd started out from, less than an hour earlier.

"Positive," Sirius answered, following him to the house, where James was already hurrying out to meet them. "It'll be okay, Mr. P."

"You're late for breakfast," James informed them, still in his nightclothes and clearly fresh out of bed.

"We went over the Apparition route," Mr. P answered lightly, throwing an arm around each of them and steering them inside.

"What? Already?"

Sirius shrugged out his answer, smirking at his best friend. "I met the ghost of a serial killer."

"Really? Where?"

"Are you ready to go to school?" Mr. P interrupted.

"No," said James promptly, "Mum just reminded me that I had to write all those essays, so maybe it would be convenient to push the date back a few days."

Sirius laughed. He'd expected James to protest going to school, but he hadn't — until now.

"You better start getting those done, son," Mr. P told him easily, unruffled by the throaty whine James let out. "And do get your things ready, we leave right after lunch."

.

* * *

.

The morning flew past, as had most days since they'd started their new training regime. Despite the hard work and nonstop cramming — of spells that were completely _unrelated_ to what he was meant to do for school, James noticed when he finally bothered to look at the list of assignments he was dreadfully behind on. It had all felt like a vacation.

Which was now over.

His parents, and even Sirius — as he found out when he complained to him — were adamantly against him staying any longer. Yes, James was aware there was a big plan in motion to get Sirius and Nina back to school, which would coincidentally occur the very day following James' own return, but could he be blamed for not wanting to go back to the usual toil of the castle?

No, he _couldn't_. But both his oldest and newest friends were excited to go, so he was outnumbered.

Sirius and Nina helped him with his homework after breakfast, and though James suspected Sirius only bothered because she was so excited over getting to go to Hogwarts, he was grateful for it. And he was even more grateful when he realised he didn't even have to copy what they were writing to pass the work off as his own: Nina had unearthed her inner Marauder and charmed their quills to mimic James' writing and style, so he rolled up three essays when he got his things ready. He owed Sirius fifty-two Galleons now, didn't he? Nina had gotten her way, after all, and that meant he'd lost his bet.

Lunch was a bittersweet affair. Nina and the McAlpins were getting ready to go to Diagon Alley, and the rest of them were rather subdued. James kept reminding himself that he'd see Remus and Pete — and most importantly, _Lily_ — today, and Nina and Sirius would arrive tomorrow, but his parents looked downcast. Especially his Mum.

She made all his favourite foods, and a huge bowl of chocolate pudding, but it was all over too soon; it wasn't even one in the afternoon and he was standing by the fireplace in his uniform, with a book bag over his shoulder.

"Look out for yourself, yeah?" James told Sirius, after his Dad left in a flash of green and it was his turn to go.

"You too," Sirius answered, trying to sound upbeat and almost managing. "I'll see you tomorrow."

His Mum gave James a basket full of grass cakes and biscuits to share with his friends and a kiss on top of his head, promising she'd see him tomorrow, and then ushered him to get into the embers.

"These are the locations we're using," his Dad was telling Dumbledore as James toppled out of the fireplace, pointing at a bunch of red, blue, and yellow dots on a map.

His reluctance at going to school forgotten, James leaned in to look at it, as did most of the portraits of former Hogwarts Heads. The dots were all over the place, with little notes next to them that indicated the times they expected Sirius to go through them. Others marked where Moody and Angus would go and things. He particularly liked the red one next to Hogwarts: it read 7 A.M.

Before breakfast tomorrow, Sirius would finally be where he belonged. James already couldn't wait.

"And he's well enough to apparate to them all?" the Headmaster asked keenly.

"He'll be okay. We're going again later, so we'll make sure he can do it on its own. I'll confirm tonight, but I'm confident he can do it without a problem."

"What time are you leaving?"

"Sharp at six in the morning," James' Dad answered.

The Headmaster nodded to himself, making two copies of the map.

"For Alastor and Minerva," he explained. "James, welcome back to school," he added with a smile and the usual twinkle, rolling one of the maps up and giving it to him. "Would you mind terribly bringing this to Minerva?"

"Sure thing, Professor," said James eagerly, giving his Dad a big hug and getting a repeated promise that he'd see everyone tomorrow.

He couldn't _wait_.

 _Prongs!_ Sirius' voice shot through his head, nearly making him stumble as he made his way down the revolving staircase.

 _Miss me already?_ James asked, taking the last three steps at a jump and grinning to himself.

 _Nah_ , Sirius was _so_ lying. _We just wanted to give Pete and Remus a heads-up, but we can't find the Mirror, did you take it?_

James inwardly cursed.

_Yeah it's in my pocket. Sorry, Padfoot._

_It's okay, Nina says to give Moony and Wormtail her best, and she wants to know if you guys would like a— hold on._

There was a pause, during which James ducked into a passage to the third floor, and then Sirius was back on the line, as it were. He was laughing.

 _She wants to know if you'd like her to pick up some things at Gambol and Japes. She's going to Diagon Alley to collect her uniforms in a bit._ There was another pause. _And she also wants to know if you'd like her to make you more of those mimicking quills._

_Yeah! There's still twelve essays I've got to hand in. Everyone must help._

_Ten_ , Sirius corrected.

_Wha?_

_We got bored and did two more, for Flitty and Googles. You_ _ **so**_ _owe us_.

 _I do. You're amazing. Well not_ _**you** _ _, you. You suck. Tell her she is amazing._

_Er. Wha?_

_Seriously, Padfoot?_ _**Tell** _ _her she's amazing, and_ _**don't** _ _tell her I said it._

There was a whine. A moment later, he got a flash of very uncharacteristic nerves from his friend's end.

 _See you tomorrow_ , Sirius promised, deciding to leave him to his own devices before he started mocking.

_Not if I see you first._

_With_ _ **your**_ _eyesight? Come_ _ **on**_.

James let out a laugh, reaching the third floor and heading for McGoogles' office.

Little did he know that it was the last he'd hear of Sirius for a while.

.

* * *

.

"Severus! Severus!" Julius Rookwood, a First Year who seemed to idolise him, barged into the Great Hall, where lunch was nearly over.

"I _just_ saw Potter!" he told them, trying to catch his breath.

What do you know, Narcissa's plan to use others as lookouts had paid off.

"What?" he and Narcissa asked at the same time. "Where?"

"He was leaving the Head Office, and I think he went to see McGonagall," said Julius. "May I have my lunch now?"

Narcissa waved him off, while Severus shot to his feet.

"I'll check it out," he informed, and hurried away as fast as he could.

Minutes later, he was listening in through the Transfiguration professor's closed door using a very useful eavesdropping charm that could even break through a Silencing Charm. Having Death Eaters for friends was indeed paying off.

"Here," Potter was saying, and _damn_ , he sounded like he always did. "Then they'll go to here, and then to here."

 _Huh_?

"So they're leaving at six?" McGonagall asked keenly, as Severus realised that they were probably looking at a letter, or a map.

"Sharp," Potter confirmed. "He should be here by seven, Professor. Do act surprised when he shows up."

McGonagall actually laughed. Severus hadn't ever heard her do that.

"Never fear. I thought he wouldn't so soon, last time I saw him."

"He's loads better," Potter assured her. Damn, damn, _damn_.

"Very well, Mr. Potter. I'll tell the faculty that you need a check-up in the morning, so you'll have the morning off."

Severus rolled his eyes. _Typical_. Potter was getting even _more_ free time. If he was alright already, then Severus hadn't really hurt him all that badly.

He'd do better next time.

But right now, he'd have to leg it, if he wanted to break into the Transfiguration professor's office later. He hurriedly cancelled his charm, but a moment too late — already the door was opening.

Severus leapt back, heart hammering in his chest.

 _Quick, think of something!_ he thought desperately, pressing himself against the wall, even as the door opened, and out walked Potter, his head turned towards the Gryffindor Head as he said his goodbyes—

Inspiration struck.

Severus simply stuck out his foot, making sure he walked into Potter as he stumbled forward.

"Watch it!" he snapped, feigning surprise and shoving Potter back hard for good measure. "Back already, Potter?" Severus spat, relishing the wince his shove had elicited. The next instant, however, his eyes widened in shock.

Potter's wand was out, well-nigh shoved up his nostril before he could register the movement or move away. He could feel the buzz of magic from this up close— did Potter _remember_?

"Hands off," Potter snarled. Severus shoved him again, before McGonagall intervened.

"Stop that _this instant_!" she snapped. "Potter, put your wand away now!"

Potter did so, scowling deeply.

"Inside," she snapped at Severus, who put a scowl on his face to hide his triumphant grin, and stalked into the office, while McGonagall took a few moments to rag at Potter and send him off to his Common Room.

As it turned out, those few seconds were enough. There, on the table and easily visible as he sat down, lay a half rolled-up map with bright coloured dots— he had time to look at 'South Bridge, 6:10', 'Minster, 6:15', 'Hogsmeade, 6:50', and a partial 'Red Lion, Weob' before McGonagall bore down on him, rolling the map up with a flick of her wand and glaring at him in a manner that would have intimidated him if he weren't in the Dark Lord's service; if he _weren't_ a Death Eater, he would never even have dared to do what he'd just done, either. But there were scarier things than an irate McGonagall, and he'd make the worst of them very, _very_ happy.

The detention he had to serve with the furious professor this evening, after his detention with Filch, was _entirely_ worth it.

.

* * *

.

"Will you be okay?" The quiet question hung between them like an anvil, heavy and daunting.

Mrs. P had put him to bed one last time, making sure he felt better and giving him his customary half dozen bedtime potions with a similar number of hugs. She clearly dreaded the following morning, even despite the fact that she had gotten her way and Sirius would not go all the way to Hogwarts alone.

She too, had asked the same question then.

Sirius had reassured her as best he could, just as he had reassured James and Angus and everyone else who had asked him the same thing. But that had been three hours ago, and this was _now_.

It was past midnight, and it wasn't Mrs. P who was asking; it was Nina.

She understood things differently than the Potters or even his friends; unlike them, she knew what it was like, to lose everything to the Death Eaters, how hard it was to get up and carry on sometimes.

She'd sneaked into his room after Mrs. P left and had kept him company since, rightly guessing that he'd have trouble keeping his eyes closed for longer than a few seconds.

They hadn't talked much, and this was one more thing he liked about her; she was the first girl he'd ever met who actually pulled off companionable silences. He had come to realise that he didn't have to impress her or make her laugh all the time; they could sit quietly and it detracted nothing from the sense of togetherness he'd first felt when he'd been blind and had to rely on scents and sounds to figure out what was going on around him. She'd been a constant since then, and he was relieved she'd go to Hogwarts; even if she didn't make Gryffindor (he was willing to bet his recently-won 52 G's that despite his private hopes on the matter, she'd probably be Sorted into Ravenclaw), she'd be a hell of a lot closer than Dal Riada, in the Middle of Nowhere, Scotland. And he was looking forward immensely to showing her the castle and its many passages.

"I'm not sure," Sirius admitted, sitting back against his headboard and giving up on any pretence of sleep. "I mean, it's a good plan — a bloody good one at that — but…" he shrugged, "anything can happen."

"And yet, you'll go anyway," she said evenly. "Even if anything _does_ happen." Sirius grinned despite himself.

"Yeah, I will. As will you," he reminded her needlessly. "Are _you_ ready for Hogwarts?"

"No," she admitted, every bit as honestly as he had been. He liked that about her too. "I'm nervous as anything, and Uncle Angus has us doing an apparition route that's similar to yours." She paused, giving him a smile. "But I'm sure that when you get there, it'll be easier."

"I'll be there. I'd hate to miss your Sorting," Sirius told her. "I can't remember anyone ever being Sorted after First Year. People will be talking about it for _ages_."

"Yeah, thanks for making me feel better. I _hate_ being stared at by people."

"Don't worry, all you have to do, is…" Sirius' advice died in his throat. "No. Sorry, I've got nothing." Hell, he was planning on doing some quality gawking, himself.

"Thankfully with you there, they won't really stare at me. They'll be ogling and talking about _you_. That's what Remus and Peter said."

"I should make a grand entrance, then, to distract the masses so they'll leave you alone."

"You know," she said, "don't bother with a grand entrance; as long as you arrive in one piece, I'll be happy."

.

* * *

.

"My Lord."

"What is it, Antonin?"

"My Lord, Snape has sent another letter. You may want to look at this."

Voldemort took the small scroll, red eyes roving over the scrawled note. Severus Snape apparently had managed to get a glimpse of a map that apparently marked the spots of Sirius Black's way back to Hogwarts — the very next morning.

"Antonin," he said, his voice rather more snakelike than usual in his excitement. It was a sibilant hiss. "Call off whoever is seeking Black and the Potters in Blackpool, and send them to Hogwarts to help the cursebreakers there. Better yet, send _everyone_ to Hogwarts tonight. I want those defences breached as soon as possible."

"Yes, my Lord."

"And call my Inner Circle together. Tomorrow we shall finally deal with that Blood-Traitor."

"My Lord?"

"I knew the Snape boy would be of use as a spy; he has just sent me a handful of locations to which Black will be taken on his way back to that school. And Antonin? Get me a map, the child is a terrible artist."

.

* * *

.

"Are you really ready, lad?"

The question was meant to hang in the air, was maybe aimed at having Sirius admit that he was, in fact, not ready, thank you very much. It had been aimed at having him stay, a little longer, for their sake as much as his.

He didn't rise to the bait.

"Good to go," Sirius nodded at once, checking the pockets of a coat James had used to go to London the previous year and which would never have fit him, before. Now it hung loosely around his too-thin frame, as did the rest of his Muggle clothing.

Coop watched him tensely, fighting the urge to fidget.

They were all gathered around the breakfast table despite it being over an hour before dawn; even Angus and Nina had gotten up early to bid Sirius goodbye and good luck, but the usually bright and optimistic disposition of their Scottish visitors was gone today; they were getting ready for some apparition of their own, after all.

Coop went through the plan once more, so they were all on the same page. He would go with Sirius as far as Edinburgh, from where he'd go to Weobley, York, Avebury and then Hogsmeade on his own, while he and Betty had an apparently carefree lunch in Diagon Alley and would then receive the _surprising_ news that Sirius had arrived at Hogwarts.

They had taken all possible precautions, Sirius had gone through the circuit last night without a problem, and Alastor and Angus would be there to watch over him in Weobley and Hogsmeade, but he felt apprehensive all the same.

Something wasn't _right_ , he felt it in his gut.

If Sirius was having one of his psychic insights on the matter like he had before, though, he was keeping it to himself.

"You've got your Galleons?" Coop asked, rather than cancelling the whole thing. "Your Muggle money and map, in case we get separated?"

"Yeah, it's all here." Sirius checked one inner pocket for his wand, then his flashing bracer for the one his uncle had given him, which he kept at the ready just in case. Doing magic without a wand, as Angus had told them a few days prior — to their collective relief — wasn't and couldn't be traced by the Ministry.

Coop stared at the glowing symbols that told them how their surrogate son was doing, at least physically. There was still too much red on it, and why didn't they keep him just a few more days for it all to turn blue?

"You're warm enough, Pumpkin?" Betty asked nervously. Sirius smiled, as he always did when she called him that.

"I'm fine, Mrs. P, honest." And now he was reassuring _her_ , when it should maybe be the other way round.

"I sent an owl ahead," said Angus, "Albus expects you a few minutes after breakfast at the latest."

"Thanks, Mr. McAlpin. I guess we should get going, then."

They took their leave a few minutes later, and Coop waited patiently as Nina gave Sirius a big hug, but then Betty decided some last-minute fussing over Sirius was in order. She checked his scarf and buttoned up his coat, and Sirius watched her, biting his lip, as though he wasn't sure what to do about that.

"We'll be fine, Mrs. P," he assured her again, taking the sandwiches she had made him and sticking them in his pocket. "We went over it yesterday and all, and—"

She pulled him into a hug, visibly trying not to cry.

"I know," she said. "Just be _very_ careful, and look out for Coop." She kissed his cheek, and Sirius nodded.

"I will, you don't have to ask."

"I'll miss you, son."

"I'll miss you too," he gave her an encouraging smile. "But I'll see you soon, Mrs. P. Promise."

Coop had taken down the wards for their departure, and he gave his wife a kiss before he nodded at Sirius, who was clearly eager to leave. They were gone in a blinking and identical _pops_.

.

* * *

.

The first apparitions went smoothly, and they went through them in quick succession, apparating away as soon as they touched ground. As an added precaution, they were both under the Invisibility Cloak, but nothing happened at all.

Until they reached Edinburgh.

They arrived alright, close to the skeleton room, and though the stale smell of old rot was like a slap in the face, Coop was finally able to draw a deep breath.

"Everything all right?" he asked Sirius. His voice was hushed, but it still echoed off the blackened walls.

"Yes, Mr. P," Sirius whispered back. Coop conjured up a handful of flames with a flick of his wand to illuminate their progress— and this was their undoing.

They had hardly wound their way through the first few turns, when Sirius suddenly pulled him back.

" _Wait_ —" he said, but he didn't get any further. The next instant, Coop heard someone shout, "Hey! There's tunnels down here!" There was a _crack_. For a few eternal moments, all they heard was ringing silence.

"Bugger, they're here—" Sirius cut himself off, as more _cracks_ shot through the cavernous vaults, and immediately more voices were heard. They both ducked into the nearest chamber.

The noises were as yet faint, but they were followed up by the trampling sounds of running boots echoing off the walls. It was confusing — it sounded like they were coming from everywhere.

"Track that spell!" someone yelled, and Coop cursed under his breath.

" _Bugger_ ," said Sirius vehemently.

" _Finite incantatem!_ " Coop hissed, cancelling the ill-fated lighting spell, just as a wave of silver surged up in front of them, the only things visible in the total darkness.

"Oy, boyo!" the ghost Sirius had befriended yesterday hailed them, "It's them coppers!" he pointed behind him.

"Bugger," Sirius muttered again.

"An' them beagles!" yelled another, pointing to their right.

"Bugger," Sirius said redundantly. "Mr. P—"

"We need to get out of here," Coop pointed out the obvious.

"Yeah, but if they know about _this_ place…" Sirius trailed off, and Coop cursed under his breath. If they knew about this place, they likely knew about the rest.

"We'll turn 'em coppers round," the ghost with the staff offered with an excited grin. "An' we'll keep 'em busy. Quick, boyo, or they'll 'ave yer heid!"

The cloud of ghosts was dissipating, and through a see-in-the-dark charm courtesy of Sirius (cast via a sudden slap to Coop's forehead), he could see them floating through walls and passages to yell at the 'Charlies' and 'beagles' and 'coppers' and 'beaks'. Some cursed at them, others misled them, others yet blocked the entrances to other passages. The air was suddenly filled with the ghosts' voices confusing the Death Eaters to no end, but he and Sirius didn't have much time at all — going back wasn't an option; neither was going to the next stop they'd planned on, and the Death Eaters were approaching, incredibly fast.

Heart beating a mad tattoo against his chest, Coop was fully aware that all the Death Eaters needed to do was be nearby when Sirius apparated to follow in his slipstream— and his mind was stuck in the same maddening loop: how had they found them at all?! Nobody knew about this place!

Coop covered them both with the Invisibility Cloak, just in time — Bellatrix and Rodolphus hurried past them a couple of seconds later, clearly not fooled by the dead.

 _She_ was following a green dot, and— Sirius cursed again — it was making the exact steps Sirius had just taken _glow_. The glowing footsteps went a little ways ahead, then turned back — it was a matter of _seconds_ before they were led straight to them both, cloak or no.

" _There_ you are!"

The yell made them both freeze. The giggle that followed was even worse.

"Little cousin, don't hide. Be a good sport and come out and play!"

Coop made a grab for Sirius' arm, deciding to just apparate them both away, never mind that they'd follow — but Sirius was gone.

"Trixie the pixie can't aim for shite!" Sirius sing-songed from somewhere up ahead, and it echoed across the vaults, multiplying his voice.

" _Point Me_ , Sirius Black!" Bellatrix shrieked, instantly enraged. A wave of magic left her wand, but there was a faint _pop_ , and a moment later, Sirius appeared behind her.

"Oy! Poopatrix! _Sagitta ignis_!" he yelled, and five fiery arrows left his wand, hitting both the Lestranges. More Death Eaters were coming down the passage to their right. Coop went ahead and cut them off, animating the remnants of two heavy doors to buffet them around.

"Nice, Mr. P!"

 _Pop_.

Sirius was gone again, and moments later, his voice could be heard, laughing and mocking the Death Eaters, along a stretch of the passages, now close by, now faint.

Spells started flying, and Coop decided that Sirius had done the right thing, befriending the ghosts of those crooks and murderers — they were actually incredibly helpful, appearing in front of the Death Eaters, blocking their vision, and making so much noise that their aim and spellwork were thrown off, but Coop could hit _them_ much more easily — he simply aimed at the ghosts. His spells went through them, hitting the Death Eaters without fail and making them laugh.

It was bedlam, what with Sirius popping up all over the place — much like the games they'd played before — and causing Bellatrix and Rodolphus to slam into some of their own companions as they tried to follow his slipstream, and the ghosts trying to whack the "coppers", the air growing thick with ricocheting spells, confused yelling and noise and crumbling stone from the vaults themselves, the Death Eaters were soon so turned around that a few of them hit each other.

There were too many Death Eaters, however, and Coop heard a handful of _cracks_ and _pops_ , but whether they were apparating in or out, he couldn't tell.

A shield appeared before him as he duelled on, deflecting a nasty purple-coloured beam — a bone-shattering curse — that bounced off it, and Coop had a glimpse of Sirius next to him, out of breath but grinning. Trust him to have fun at a time like this.

"Sorry to cut your fun short, but we have to go, _now_."

Coop didn't waste any time. He cast a last quick spell, launching a nearby bunch of barrels at the Death Eaters, just as Sirius grabbed his arm…

 _Pop_.

…And touched ground in Weobley immediately after.

Coop was blinded by bright sunlight that stung his over-sensitive eyes. He fell back with a hiss, fumbling to cancel the see-in-the-dark charm, out of breath and laughing with relief and excitement.

"Merlin's beard lad, I haven't had a duel like this in _years_ ," he chuckled — but there was no response.

Coop raised his head, blinking in momentary confusion against the too bright world and squinted around. He was sure Sirius had side-along apparated him to the hill they were supposed to use in case of emergency; he could see the village stretching out below, the pub where Moody was waiting.

It was what he _couldn't_ see what made his stomach plummet.

Sirius wasn't _here_.

Coop cursed, apparating to the pub — nothing.

He went to fetch Alastor, who accompanied him back to the vaults not a minute later, but all they found were the debris of their underground battle and a bunch of rowdy ghosts, who were still reeling from the most excitement they'd had in decades.

"There's no sign of him. Not a _trace_ ," Alastor established at a mutter.

"What do we do _now_?" Coop felt his worst fears surfacing already.

"We follow the plan," Alastor barked, making him jump. "You're going to the Alley, and you'll play your part. I'll follow the route he was meant to take. He might still turn up, Potter. So, we wait."

.

* * *

TBC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: We find out where Sirius went, the Potters consider posting lost dog flyers, the Bark Mark makes a comebark, Voldemort's plans are revealed, and the Sorting Hat feels exploited.


	19. If Found, Return to Owner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Lots of freaking out, all over the place. I tried, and failed, to get Sirius to school. Honestly, the closest I managed to get him is… well, you'll see. The Bark Mark makes a comebark, er comeback. The Sorting Hat is confused. Snape gets busted — sort of. James isn't amused. Neither are the Death Eaters. But the ghosts are having the time of their unlife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the HP universe, or even the tiniest of its franchises. Not even the one in Orlando, though I've been to the theme park… twice.

* * *

**Part Nineteen: If Found, Return to Owner**

* * *

.

Sirius _didn't_ arrive by seven.

James hadn't been able to sleep, and had kept his friends awake half the night, but around five he let Remus and Pete doze off and decided to get ready.

Sirius was supposed to arrive at the main gates of the school, now the Ministry had left Hogwarts and was looking for him elsewhere, so James chose the steps outside the great doors to wait, all jitters and excitement and anticipation, as six ticked by entirely too slowly and turned into seven almost reluctantly.

This was _torture_.

He got to his feet sharp on the hour, and waited for an even longer minute to crawl by, looking for any signs of movement within his field of vision. When the first minute was over, and as additional minutes ticked slowly by, James' feelings switched to anxiety and grew exponentially with each passing second.

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall's voice was quiet as she stepped up behind him. James glanced at his watch. It read 7:15.

It wasn't like Sirius to be late for anything, after all. Not without a bloody good reason. Not _today_ , of all days.

He closed his eyes, gripping the doorframe, as though that could brace him for the news he already sensed would come.

"What happened?" he asked tonelessly, without turning around.

"They were ambushed," she answered. No amount of bracing could have softened this blow; James flinched. "Your father is alright, and he said that last he saw Sirius, he appeared to be alright too… but," she took a deep breath that was maybe meant to steady her. It clearly didn't do the trick. "But Sirius apparated your father out and… and he's…"

"Missing," James finished for her.

"I am sorry, Mr. Potter. Everyone is looking for him, but it appears that the Dark Side learnt of some, if not all, the Apparition points. Mr. B— Sirius hasn't been seen at or near any of the ones he was supposed to go to. We fear that—"

"No. He _hasn't_ been taken," James interrupted firmly. "I'd know." He swallowed; he _would_ know, right?

_Right?_

Sirius had warned him that he would block him out until he arrived at school, because having James on the other end was just too distracting. They'd learnt that if they didn't block each other off while apparating, they'd more often than not follow each other's paths. It happened enough times that they'd come up with a name — slipstreaming, they'd called it. Also, James hadn't forgotten what other things he could cause if he went butting into his friend's head, so he'd been fighting himself off trying to contact him.

Now he wondered if Sirius' block would fail to tell him if he was badly hurt again — he'd successfully shut James out of most of the things that happened to him during the Yule, even that awful curse — but would it prevent James from knowing if he was _killed_?

The only other times when he had failed to get any insight on his friend, had occurred when Sirius had been deeply unconscious or sedated, but maybe, just _maybe_ , this wasn't the case. Sirius _wasn't_ stupid, no matter how much James called him that, and they'd been preparing for, well, an ambush in particular.

And how did _that_ even happen? Nobody knew the route until yesterday. Not even James had known, and—

" _Snape_ ," he muttered, his mind already on the next order of business, as it were. He looked at his Head of House, all blood draining from his face. "Snape, _yesterday_ — when I was leaving your office, right _after_ we looked at the map."

"Do you honestly believe that he could have —?" But McGonagall, too, had blanched.

"Was the map on your desk?" James couldn't remember. He'd been too excited with how well things were going, and hadn't Sirius and Remus said that maybe — _maybe_ — it was Snivellus who'd chopped him up like venison roast? Sirius said he'd only caught a glimpse when he saw James being attacked, and he couldn't get a good look in, because James had passed out the next moment. And, his mind supplied nastily, hadn't he _himself_ shot them down, because he couldn't _remember_ who had done it? Because he didn't think it fair to throw accusations around without being damn sure?

Had he unwittingly put Sirius in even more danger by giving that greasy bastard the benefit of the doubt?

James didn't know, but his stomach did; he felt like he'd be sick.

"Oh, _Merlin_. I'll speak to the Headmaster." McGonagall hurried off, and tempted though James was to follow, he focused on something more important, trying to reach Sirius instead.

Sirius had warned him not to try, because distractions and apparition and all, but Sirius should be here already, and James would be damned if he didn't do everything in his power to help him get here.

When he timidly tested their link, though, it felt worse. Like Sirius wasn't even _there_.

It was a terrible sensation, one that James instantly recoiled from; when Sirius had been stuck in the Pensieve, it had felt like this. Like part of him was missing, and without it he couldn't be whole.

 _Where are you?_ James shouted in his mind, but it was as though he were yelling against the wind.

Instead of panicking like he was very tempted to doing, he focused his mind harder. Sooner or later, he'd break through. Because Sirius had just gotten _that_ good at shutting his mind off. That _didn't_ mean he was dead, or worse, captured.

James only had to focus and find him.

He _had_ to.

.

* * *

.

"Anything?" Betty's voice sounded about as ragged as he felt. Coop shook his head tiredly, stepping out of the fireplace and pulling her into his arms. He had searched for Sirius high and low, with zero results. All he and Alastor had found was his leg brace, when they did a second sweep of the vaults underneath South Bridge.

The ghosts who had been so helpful in fighting off the Death Eaters, weren't forthcoming with information, though. Once they spotted Alastor, they vanished without a trace; dead they might be, but they weren't fooled and could still spot an Auror when they saw one.

Sadly, that meant that their main lead had suddenly become useless, and Alastor had ended up sending him home. He had reminded Coop of the part he still had to play, no matter what... But coming home was hard enough, and facing Betty was even harder.

This was their worst fears come true.

"It's been _hours_ ," she said against his chest.

"I know. Alastor said he'd take over the search. Angus will help him as soon as he drops Nina off at Hogwarts… But we must play our part," he reminded her. "There is still every chance that he's alright; he just can't send word to us."

"I'd rather go look for him," Betty answered.

"So would I." Coop held her a little closer. "But we must believe he can hold his own— he's been doing nothing else but prepare for this, and he was doing brilliantly when we were ambushed. He might yet succeed in reaching the castle, and we can't ruin the operation by looking for him. Come," he added. "Let us get ready."

"What if he doesn't arrive today?" Betty asked worriedly. "He told me the other day he was sure they wouldn't find him, that he'd done it for years… I should have asked him what he meant."

Coop though, understood what Sirius had been hinting at. Not just because he had probably had more conversations of this sort with Sirius over the past month than anyone, but because again, he'd been privy to those memories. He knew that Sirius had used his dog form successfully for years to give his family the slip when things got bad.

"Betty, he's an _Animagus_ ," he reminded her. Sure, they had only seen him as a dog once, and he'd been too ill to transform since — but he ought to be well enough for it now. "That's how he's survived so long. It shouldn't be a stretch to think that this is why there's no trace of him. His magical signature must change enough that we can't recognise it."

"But why hide from _you_?"

"Maybe he went on to Hogwarts," Coop reasoned. "We _meant_ to separate in Edinburgh, and ambush or no, that wouldn't change the plan; the Vaults were intended to shake off any pursuers, and that, at least, worked."

Hope washed over his wife's features.

"They don't know, do they?" she asked, "that he turns into a dog?"

"No; they don't. Nobody does, not about Sirius, nor about our James… we'll keep it that way, but," he smiled despite himself, "maybe we should consider posting lost dog flyers all over the country, if he's not at Hogwarts by tonight."

.

* * *

.

And what of Sirius?

To tell his side of the story, a little backtracking is in order. You see, he heard something while he was driving the Death Eaters to distraction and popping up where they least expected him; and that was when he decided he'd take a little detour.

Funnily enough, it wasn't the Death Eaters where this most juicy bit of information came from, but his new deceased friend, the serial killer formerly known as Auld Jock.

So, to best understand the circumstances leading to his disappearance, we'd do best to return to the vaults under South Bridge in Edinburgh, to the moment where Auld Jock and his band of the merry departed were warning him and Coop to move to — a questionable at best — safety.

"We'll turn 'em coppers 'round," Auld Jock offered with an excited grin. "An' we'll keep 'em busy. Quick, boyo, or they'll 'ave yer heid!"

They'd have his head, indeed. And the rest of him too, while they were at it. The only other thought in his head for the next few moments was, _Bugger. Bugger bugger bugger._

Mr. P killed his lighting spell — which the Death Eaters had tracked, that much was _obvious_ — and they were plunged in complete darkness.

Sirius would have found it disorienting, before, but spending a handful of days completely blind had worked itself into an advantage of sorts; he no longer lost his bearings in the dark, but shifted immediately into his canine perception.

Smells instantly became sharper, more pungent, and brought with them a host of information; he knew who was where all of a sudden. Sounds too, increased in number — he heard how one Death Eater was basically piggybacking the rest into the vaults, and he realised that they must all have been expecting them to show up on the street above. They had only found them because someone had decided to track magic in the vicinity.

Sirius cast a see-in-the-dark spell, and his picture of the exact dimensions of the fix they were in became complete. The Munchers were crowding the narrow passages.

 _Crowding,_ what the hexing hell. He didn't need to see through the walls to know there were too many of them here.

Way too many.

Only, it didn't bring the crippling wave of panic it had, last time he'd seen the Death Eaters. Although a tiny part of his brain told him that he maybe should start panicking now instead of later, it went largely ignored by the rest.

This, too, was different.

Sirius swallowed back the instinct to run, forewent the initial stages of nerves and outright distress, and jumped straight into the sort of outrage that forced him to move. That, he had plenty of.

He hurried back to where he'd last seen Mr. P and groped blindly in the air for a bit until he found him, and slapped a see-in-the-dark spell on his forehead. Mr. P covered him with the Invisibility Cloak in return…

Which was relieving for all of ten seconds, during which there was no time to formulate a plan of any sort.

Sirius could hear the tell-tale sounds of the ongoing Apparition, the voices of even more Death Eaters as they cast lighting charms and were shocked by the sheer dimensions of the underground street and its vaults. They were confused by the unfamiliar territory and the many ghosts blocking their way, and he was about to suggest to Mr. P that they back into what seemed to be the remnants of a seedy pub and apparate away from there, when _Bellatrix_ entered his field of vision.

The spell she was casting was one that would give his position away despite the cloak, and he watched with a horrified sort of fascination as it did just that, making his every footstep _glow_. Before it reached his actual feet, Sirius disapparated, popping up around the corner up ahead. He flattened himself against the wall, to avoid being spotted by the many lighting charms that swept erratically across the place, but he didn't pay attention to that— not yet. His focus was on his cousin, who had whipped around and was looking for him elsewhere.

Auld Jock was next to him, floating delightedly in the air.

"Yeh's really in a bind, boyo," he pointed out. "Ah've ne'er seen so many come fer naught but a lad."

"Thanks, I guess," Sirius muttered, surprised his wildly hammering heart _didn't_ leap out of his mouth when he spoke. "Stick around and you'll see plenty more. _Sonorus_."

"Ah certainly will," Auld Jock assured him, but his next words were lost in the one phrase that instantly turned his least favourite cousin into a screaming bundle of fiery rage. It had worked without fail since he coined it when he was _seven,_ and if his family was to be trusted, he was at his most insufferable then — not that he hadn't honed his skills since, but tried-and-true was the way to go.

Which was, of course, why Sirius went with it as an opening act.

"TRIXIE THE PIXIE CAN'T AIM FOR SHITE!" Sirius crooned as loudly as he could, filling the air with his most obnoxious sing-song voice. It echoed off the walls and arches of the vaults, multiplying itself and making everyone give a start. But Sirius didn't care about _everyone_ , just yet. Just _her_ , because she was the worst of them all.

It had the intended effect.

She whipped around, incensed, and cast a useless PointMe charm. By then Sirius was already behind her, pointing his — much more useful — fire arrows at her. Down she went, taking Rodolphus, and whatever remnants of dread Sirius had left in his system, with her.

Inspiration struck; if _she_ could be goaded into messing up this easily, the rest of them could too. Snakes were all the same, after all; hit the right button, they'd start messing up in an instant.

Off-task, the little Sirius in his head basked in the realisation that the Death Eaters _could_ be hurt, and there was no reason for them to always have the upper hand. And really, to be fair, chaos was something he hadn't caused for entirely too long.

As James would say, it was unbecoming.

Sirius decided he'd turn his recent good behaviour around. He disapparated to another section of the vaults, where newly-arrived Death Eaters were _still_ being brought down here by the first — One of the Carrows, apparently. Perhaps Amycus - nobody else was _that_ fat and _that_ short, except for his sister — and by the time Sirius was done, all newcomers were promptly treated to a welcome of hands grabbing their feet and holding fast, while a fireball spell took care of their lighting problems. And their eyebrows.

"He's over there!" Amycus yelled at the others, which was Sirius' cue to pop up somewhere else.

Auld Jock laughed raucously. He and his fellow deceased friends were clearly enjoying the light show provided by spells the Death Eaters were casting left and right, aiming for wherever they'd seen Sirius last — often hitting other Death Eaters instead.

"Missed me, Rookwood," Sirius informed the tall Death Eater from behind, making him jump. By the time he turned around, shooting a deadly spell or other into nothingness, Sirius was already gone, tapping a shoulder here, yanking hair there, shoving someone into the path of a spell— and then he walked straight into Bellatrix.

" _Gotcha!_ " she snapped, grabbing for him — but Sirius apparated away with a barking laugh, straight into the group of Munchers duelling Mr. P. He ducked clumsily out of the way of a Slashing Curse — he'd had enough of those, thanks — and apparated away again, to the top of some barrels someone had stacked up a hundred years ago. Bellatrix obviously followed his apparition path, slamming into her own people from behind with a furious shriek.

"I have ter hand it ter yeh," Auld Jock commented, sitting next to him, "yeh've got the art of causing bedlam down pat."

Sirius grinned, trying to catch his breath.

"Ta, Auld Jock." Once he set aside the fear of getting torn to bits by them, he could appreciate how much _fun_ this actually was.

"Don' thank me yet, boyo," said the ghost, lighting a pipe that was as transparent as the rest of him. "They're calling in reinforcements."

"What?" _More were coming?_ Should he feel Worried? Terrified? Should he feel _honoured_?

"Aye, aye. Ah gots some of me lads topside, an' they heard 'em blokes callin' fer help, from 'Ogwarts."

Sirius heart skipped a beat. No, there wasn't a chance he'd misheard.

"Hogwarts? You _sure_?"

"Or me name ain't Jock."

"Wild guess: It's not," Sirius remarked, but inwardly, he was suddenly trying to fish his stomach from below his ankles. The battle wasn't as much fun anymore.

The ghost laughed heartily. "Damn right it ain't, it's Barthélemy — if ye blab ter anyone, ah'll find out a way to have yer tongue."

"Cross my heart and all that," Sirius answered absently, but his mind was racing. There was only _one_ reason this lot would be calling reinforcements from _Hogwarts_. He'd suspected they'd do something big, but something _this_ big? "What did they say, exactly?"

"'Get ev'ryone from 'Ogwarts, we can finish with them wards la'er'," said Auld Jock at once. "Wild guess, them's no' coppers."

"No, they're worse."

A Killing Curse whizzed past as he spoke, straight through the ghost's mouth. It made Sirius' attention snap back to the present.

"Thanks man," Sirius muttered, thinking fast. This wasn't about getting to Hogwarts in one piece anymore — it was to keep the lord Thingy from doing the same thing he'd tried in the Hollow, getting Mr. P out of here, and—

And _what_ , exactly?

Sirius didn't know. But he had to move. _Now_.

"I'll be seeing you," he said, deciding he could figure it all out once they were out of here.

"Yer welcome back anytime!" Barthélemy shouted after him, as he apparated away to a spot where the Death Eaters were crammed in a narrow alley, duelling an invisible foe.

Sirius landed next to Mr. P, and a shield charm left his wand an instant before his recently-acquired dad was hit by a bone-crushing curse — he'd also had enough of _those_ — and grabbed him, apparating him to the Weobley hill.

And somewhere, between the feeling like he was being sucked through a thin tube and feeling the ground solidify beneath his feet once more, he had an epiphany of sorts.

It required doing something nobody would _expect_ , and he'd thought of just the thing.

Sirius didn't linger once he and Mr. P landed on the hilltop; he loved the old wizard to bits, but explaining what he'd heard would only lead to them wasting time, and _then_ having to comb the castle and grounds to find where the Death Eaters were trying to undo the protections. It would lead to a battle, without the added advantage of close quarters they had had in the vaults.

It would be _messy_.

If he _followed_ the Death Eaters, though, he would surely find out what they were up to much quicker, he could probably even find out where, exactly, the school's wards were being breached. He didn't really stop to think beyond that; he only stayed with Mr. P long enough to make sure that there were no Death Eaters nearby — there weren't — and apparated away.

He landed back in the underground street a moment later, where the Death Eaters were trying to establish if he and Mr. P were still here, which was made difficult by the mass of ghosts surrounding them and calling them all sorts of fantastic names.

"Flapdoodles!" one of them yelled. It was a girl of about thirteen — but that didn't stop her from waving her arms wildly in some of their faces.

"Begone, ye _mutton shunters!_ " shouted another. What a mutton shunter was, Sirius didn't know, but it sounded _terrific_.

"Gah, can't anyone shut them up?!" someone snapped. Sirius believed he could do that for them.

"Oy, you muppets!" Sirius shouted, making everyone — ghosts included — fall silent and turn to look at him. Sirius gave them his most annoying grin. "I have just one thing to say to you lot — _Vortex tempestas_!" He gave them a mock salute, disappearing before a beheading curse hit him.

A tremor shook the ground. A handful of Death Eaters disappeared at once, clearly fearing they'd get trapped in a giant fanged muzzle again, but Sirius wasn't one for repeat presentations. This time, his spell was an air spell — gale-force winds suddenly slammed into the witches and wizards before him, lifting hundred year-old dust and debris into the air and making them all sneeze and cough. It wouldn't maybe last long, but it made it impossible for them to stay _here_. They'd have to leave at some point soon.

Sirius apparated inside the remnants of a broken-down pub a moment later. He went dog as soon as he touched ground, resorting to his old and proven tactic of hiding in plain sight. His leg brace clattered to the stone floor as he transformed, but he paid it no mind; he was busy listening hard for the Death Eaters' voices.

And sure enough, they trailed to his ears, bemoaning their bad luck and whining to each other about clogged noses and things.

He heard the familiar tracking spells being cast, inching his way towards the nearest group.

"He's gone, _again_ ," Dolohov established. Sirius rather liked the way he sounded just like a Muggle butler whenever he spoke. A _Russian_ butler. "I will report to our Lord," he added, ignoring the wheezing and coughing around him. "You return to work on those wards. Can we be confident that we will breach Hogwarts within a few days at most?" While other Death Eaters were more visceral in their reactions, he wasn't. Sirius was no expert, but he had never _once_ seen Dolohov ruffled. He was scarier than even his crackpot cousins, he decided.

"I think so, Antonin," said Carrow. He wasn't sure which one, with those bloody masks on, it was so hard to tell them apart. They even sounded alike. "We have already managed to breach the outer defences from the Druid Rock to the stables, and we're working on the Mimic Charm. It'll take another three days at least."

_Mimic Charm? Three days? Wha?_

"What about you, Bella?"

Sirius strained his ears. Bellatrix was furious, huffing like a winded racehorse.

"Yeah, yeah, we'll break through the lake by Friday, I think," she groused, kicking a pebble through a ghost's belly. "That damn brat, _gah_."

"Shut up, ye hedge-creepin' ratbag!" one of the ghosts interjected. Sirius decided he'd do something for them in return; they were maybe dead, but they had definitely made things less bleak, somehow; it was easier not to freak out with them around.

"Rabastan will catch him at York or Hogsmeade," Rodolphus muttered, ignoring the Victorian thesaurus of insults. "At worst, we'll grab him when we take Hogwarts, Bella. Good things come to those who wait."

Sirius' eyes narrowed. _Somehow_ , the bastards knew where they'd planned to stop along the way. But _nobody_ had known — just Dumbledore, Angus, Mr. P… _gah_. How had they found out?

"But I want him _dead_ already!" Bellatrix spat, taking her anger out on her husband, who didn't answer. She sounded beyond pissed off. "He's already cost us _Lenora_!"

Sirius hadn't a clue what that old handbag had to do with anything, but he found it hard to feel for the snake. That thing was so old, it had been stealing oxygen from the living before Sirius was even born.

"What about the West side of the castle?" Dolohov asked impatiently. "Avery, you're in charge of that, aren't you?"

"We've had some trouble. All the wards there are new, and detect us before we even come close—"

" _Make_ it work," Dolohov snapped. "It's the most important point of entry into the kitchens! I can't keep _him_ happy forever if I can't even give him a successful raid to look forward to. Malfoy," he snapped next. "Tell Narcissa to get her elves ready to replace some of Dumbledore's tonight. Three should do it. Bode, you help Avery and work on the keys to enter the kitchen. Go now, and get back to work. The Dark Lord will _not_ be pleased now we let Black escape again."

Sirius crept forward, even as Dolohov disapparated with a _CRACK_ that told him just how miffed the Russian butler was.

" _Bastard_ ," Bellatrix muttered. Then they all vanished at the same time, to their appointed destinations.

Sirius sat back on his haunches, his ears ringing in the sudden silence. He wasn't sure how the House Elves played into the plan, but he understood that they had to breach the massive protections warding the school before they could infiltrate them or whatever.

That, he mused, he could maybe do _something_ about. If he could find out where the Death Eaters were trying to breach the wards, then Dumbledore and Moody would probably stop them much sooner.

First stop, then, had to be the wards where they had made most progress. He transformed back and turned on his heel, focusing on a clearing near Druid Rock which he knew well.

.

* * *

.

" _Don't_ tell me, Antonin."

Voldemort pinched the bridge of his nose. Really, he didn't even have to be a Legilimens to be able to tell what his trusty Death Eaters were going to report.

At times like these, he was glad that it was one of his oldest followers and one of his few friends, who came bearing the bad news. He didn't cower, fear, or lie to him, no matter how dire the news, or how vexing.

"I won't, then," Dolohov answered gravely, sitting down on a nearby armchair. Only Antonin could make that statement _not_ sound like disrespect.

"That _accursed_ boy." Voldemort sighed. This had long ceased to be amusing; Sirius Black was becoming the proverbial thorn in his toe, chafing him more the longer he managed to elude him.

"Yes, my Lord."

The silence stretched for the space of a few moments, until Voldemort could not keep his curiosity at bay any longer.

"What did he do this time? Did he open the ground again?"

"It appears that he had… an army of ghosts, my Lord."

"Beg pardon?"

"They were not on South Bridge, my Lord. It appears that they were _underneath_ it. In an underground maze of Victorian-age streets and closes."

" _They_?"

"It is possible that one more witch or wizard was with Black; however, nobody could identify them. If he was alone, then he truly did the impossible."

"So he _can_ apparate, then."

"Without a doubt, my Lord. It seems that he has become quite… _proficient_ at it."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Antonin," Voldemort said musingly, "wasn't he quite dreadfully injured only ten or so days ago? I distinctly recall that even before then, he bore all the marks of our own brand of _proficiency_."

"It appears his health has improved, although the one glimpse I got of him isn't enough to tell for certain."

"So he hasn't been idle; someone has been training him. Ideas?"

"We can assume that he has been staying with the Potters at their Blackpool house, but we could not tell for sure; it is unplottable and has proven to be—"

"Yes, yes, impossible to find," Voldemort muttered in annoyance. Antonin summoned himself a glass of wine, sighing. "Who _else_ would so dense as to help the boy? Alphard Black has been watched closely since the Yule, and we are certain he has not contacted him in any way. The Potters took their own boy home, but aside from what the Snape kid said, there hasn't been anything to suggest they were housing Black this time."

"Godric's Hollow yielded no results either, my Lord."

"Nor did Hogwarts." Voldemort chuckled in disbelief. "How then, did this _brat_ gain access to first-rate healing and training?"

"We do not know, my Lord."

"And where is he now?"

"We… do not know, my Lord," Antonin repeated. "We followed the route indicated by Snape, we tried the York Minster and we even found the village, but there was no trace of him. Not in Hogsmeade, either."

"So Black continues to elude me," Voldemort mused. "What about Potter?"

"He arrived at the school yesterday, and according to Snape, he knew that Black would apparate to those points. How he came by such information, however, is debatable."

"How so?" Voldemort asked.

"He brought the map to McGonagall, but he was seen coming from Dumbledore's office."

"That old wizard could have hidden Black, is that what you're saying?"

"He would enjoy doing so, my Lord."

"Fair enough. One more question to put to Black before he dies," Voldemort decided. "Where are we at, with breaching Hogwarts?"

Antonin's expression relaxed.

"We have three teams working night and day," he informed, and Voldemort could see the pride well up in his face. "Bellatrix' technique, of creating a Mimic Charm to mask the Dark Mark and thus grant us access, is working very well so far."

"Not the pet entrance again, I hope," Voldemort warned him, only half-jokingly.

"No, my Lord; the House Elves' wards provide us with many more opportunities, and elves are both loyal and expendable."

"Much better; I shall not put Nagini at risk again. When can we expect a breach?"

"Within the week, my Lord. As yet, it is as with Godric's Hollow, they are wholly ignorant of our present endeavours."

"And the Ministry? Did they not comb the Forest?"

Dolohov laughed.

"With Travers and Mulciber misleading them? They never even got _close_. They left this morning, to search for Black elsewhere."

"That blasted child seems to be vexing the Ministry as much as us," Voldemort quipped. Both wizards laughed. "But we shall vex _him_ even more, once we breach the castle and bring the war to that school."

.

* * *

.

Remus and Pete joined him in the Entrance Hall, well after everyone else had gone in for breakfast, to start yet another mundane Monday. And why wouldn't they?

For them, life _hadn't_ changed, had it?

"Have you gotten anything?" Pete wanted to know. He sounded about as tense as James felt.

"I'm _trying_ ," he admitted. "But it's like trying to yell at someone on the other side of the Pitch. In a storm."

"He's blocking you out?" Remus asked, and James nodded.

"He told me he would, but. They were ambushed. Dad's alright," he assured his alarmed friends, "and he said Sirius was too, but— he lost him, and I can't bloody _find_ him."

Remus and Peter didn't waste their breaths with assurances that it would be alright, or not to worry. Such empty promises had no place among the Marauders. When there was hope, they hoped together; when there wasn't, they despaired together. As James had recently learnt, it was better this way.

So, they missed breakfast together and worried themselves to bits, three sets of eyes fixed on the far end of the grounds, where Sirius _could_ still turn up.

Dumbledore stopped to tell the Marauders the very words that they wouldn't speak, reminding them to await the McAlpins and lead them to his office.

So, they waited, staring at an unchanging scenery that was only momentarily disrupted by a flock of birds taking sudden flight deep in the Forest, past Hagrid's hut. But Sirius didn't emerge from there either, and a moment later, they were back to watching the gates again, and James was back to reaching out to Sirius, back to forcing himself to hope… and failing terribly.

.

* * *

.

"All right lass, this is the last leap." Angus gave his niece a sideways smile. "In a few minutes, ye'll get yer first glimpse of Hogwarts."

Nina looked up at him nervously.

"Thanks for doing this, uncle Angus."

"I cannae say I'm too happy with it," he admitted, "but if ye'll sleep better there, it wouldn't be fair to make ye stay at home. If ye don't like it, though, ye can always come back home to us. Come, we don't want to be late for yer Sorting."

They arrived at the gates of Hogwarts without a hitch, at eight o'clock on the dot, but as they approached, Angus saw that their welcome committee was one short; there was only James, Remus, and Peter.

He inwardly cursed.

Beside him, Nina stopped short, but caught herself right after and walked on. Atta girl.

"Hello, boys," he told them, taking in their expressions and feeling his heart plummet despite having spent days preparing for the worst.

None of them answered. James was staring at the ground between his feet, and he looked terribly miserable.

"Let's take this inside, shall we," Angus added, ushering them all towards the Entrance Hall.

"Dumbledore said he'd do your Sorting in his office," James told Nina at a mumble. "We'll come with you." He looked like he wanted to say something else, but then he shook his head and turned around, walking inside. Remus nodded his head for them to follow, and Pete put an arm around Nina, in an attempt at comfort.

They made their way to Albus' office in silence, but once they were on the revolving staircase, the quiet was broken.

"He's nowhere to be found," said James heavily. "He was supposed to be here an hour ago, but that _slimeball_ must've told them—"

"You don't know that for sure," Peter reminded him, snapping his mouth shut when James glared at him.

"What slimeball?" Nina asked what was on the tip of Angus' tongue.

" _Snape_ ," Remus muttered. He was as angry as James.

"You mean, the boy who attacked you?" Nina asked. She'd gone pale.

"I wasn't sure before," James answered darkly, stepping off the staircase and opening the door for her. "But he was outside McGonagall's office when I told her about Sirius' Apparition points."

"Didn't you put up a Silencing Charm, lad?"

"We _did_ , but he must've seen the map anyway. We aren't sure," he admitted grudgingly. "It _could've_ been someone else, but." But his mind was evidently made up, and he couldn't think beyond that.

"Hello, Angus," Albus said, gesturing them to sit on the armchairs around his desk. The ever-present tea floated in front of all of them, but none of them moved to take it. As Albus explained what had happened, Angus' stomach plummeted further.

"And there's no sign of him?" he asked, once they had all listened to the story the Headmaster had for them.

"None," said Albus. "We have to assume he escaped the Death Eaters successfully, but Alastor spotted a handful of them at both York and Hogsmeade; that means Sirius didn't go there, and possibly, that they didn't succeed in taking him. However, we have no way of knowing where he could have gone."

Everyone turned to look at James.

"Sorry, sir. I've got nothing. He's blocking me out."

"That useless great-great-grandson of mine isn't worth your time." James looked up at Phineas Nigellus, eyes burning with anger.

"What the hell do _you_ know?" he spat. Phineas sneered nastily at them.

"I know that _I_ would count my blessings that he's out of my hair. Orion should've drowned him years ago as I suggested, and saved us all the troub— _Hey_!"

What else the portrait likeness of Sirius' ancestor had to say, went unheard. James had flipped the frame over with a flick of his wand.

Angus thought it was the most polite thing anyone could've done.

"What now?" Remus asked, reaching for his tea at last.

"We can only wait," said Albus. "I have to ask you all to try and act normally," he added to the children. "I know it's not easy," he said next, as they started to protest, "but we still have every reason to believe he's alright and trying to come here. We cannot arouse suspicion by doing anything differently from any other day. If and when he is found, we'll let you know immediately. Angus, Alastor will arrive at Aberforth's in half an hour; he might have some news."

"I'll be there. The Potters?" Angus asked.

"They're okay," the Headmaster answered, to their collective relief. "They will be in Diagon Alley within the hour, and they'll follow the plan. Janus will meet them at noon, and they'll have lunch at the Leaky Cauldron. After that, they'll both come here and join the search."

"We'll find him," Angus assured the kids, getting to his feet.

"You _won't,_ " answered James. "Not unless he wants you to, and he already doesn't."

Angus placed a hand on James' shoulder, in an attempt at comfort, well aware that it did nothing of the sort.

"There's still the matter of your Sorting, Nina," the Headmaster reminded them.

"It can wait," she said at once. "Honestly, we have more important things to do—"

"It should not wait," said Albus kindly, reaching for the old Sorting Hat sitting on his desk. The thing was completely limp in his hand, but it looked to Angus as if the rip in it was scrunched up in a grimace.

Sure enough…

"I only work one day a year," the Sorting Hat groused.

"These are special circumstances," Albus told the Hat, "we talked about this last night."

"Fine, fine, get the kid over here, then. But I'm not _singing_ — my song for September isn't even half ready yet, and I won't have enough time to make up another one if I use it now."

Angus' eyebrows shot up; even James and the boys seemed to forget to be miserable for the moment, exchanging confused looks. Nina looked nervous.

"We won't mind," Albus assured the Hat, "and I'm sure that this won't be a waste of your precious time."

He stepped up to where Nina was sitting, winking at her before he placed the Sorting Hat on her head.

They waited for a few minutes, during which the Hat turned this way and that, muttering to itself. Despite his assurances that he wouldn't care what House his niece would end up in, Angus couldn't help wishing she would make Ravenclaw, like he himself had. She certainly had the brains for it, and she loved learning.

In the end, the rip opened wide, and the Hat said, "GRYFFIND— no. RAVEN— _what?!_ Hold on, everyone, sorry."

Angus' heart, which had leapt in response to his wish come true, decided to skip a beat. They all stared at the fidgeting girl on the chair, and Angus swallowed. Didn't she want to be in Ravenclaw?

 _Whyyyy_?

"Oh, this is _unexpected_." The Hat seemed excited all of a sudden. "Tell me, what do you think—?" it asked aloud. If an old wizard's hat could look _curious_ , it was Godric's old cap.

"Maybe, but—" the Hat argued a moment later. They all stared at it, insanely curious themselves.

"Makes sense, but I _still_ think that Gryff—" said the Hat. "You think that _that_ could make a difference? Why?"

"What's going on?" James asked at length, as time wore on and the Hat still failed to pronounce its verdict.

"Shut up, you," said the Hat. James' mouth snapped shut. "I'm busy here, new information has come up that I must take into account."

"But what—"

"Wouldn't _you_ like to know?" the Sorting Hat asked mockingly. For eternally long minutes, the Hat continued to grow, shrink, twist this way and that. Nina was gripping the sides of her chair, but she was swinging her legs, as though she were just waiting.

"Well," the Hat pronounced after a long time, during which everyone minus Phineas stared intently at it.

"What? What's going on?" Phineas asked, his voice muffled against the wall.

Everyone ignored him.

"This is _most_ interesting, most _unusual_ …" the Hat muttered.

" _Gah_ ," James huffed impatiently. Angus found himself tempted to do the same.

"I stand by what I said," the Hat said a little later. "Well, what I said first. Or second. The only House that will help you achieve your goals is… _RAVENCLAW_!"

"YESSS!" Angus exclaimed, beaming proudly at his niece, who emerged from under the Hat with a relieved sort of smile. He pulled her into a hug, smacking a kiss on her cheek.

"What was _that_ all about?" asked Remus.

"Not sure," Nina answered. "It held this long monologue in my head, and it seemed to be trying to sort itself out, half the time. It kept complaining that it only worked once a year, and asking about advice on its songwriting... it's like it couldn't make up its mind."

"Did it try to stick you in Slytherin too?" Peter asked her. Nina shook her head.

"No; it was more of a coin toss between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw than anything."

"We'd have been very glad to have you in Gryffindor," Remus assured her, "but Ravenclaw's a great House too."

"We have _lots_ of friends in Ravenclaw," Peter added brightly. "There's the McKinnons, and Benjy, and a couple of Prewetts. And _Amelia_."

"He's got a crush on her," Remus informed, making them all smile.

"Congrats," said James, but he was giving her a tight, mournful sort of look.

"What's wrong?" Nina asked him immediately.

"It's just… I just lost 104 Galleons," James answered with a shrug.

"Huh?" asked Remus.

"Sirius bet you'd make Ravenclaw. And I'd like to pay him now." James shook his head, taking Nina's hand. "Never mind, we'll just have to tell him what he missed. Come on, we'll show you to your Common Room."

"Yer not supposed to know where it is!" Angus exclaimed. James just shrugged again, but he did bite out a wry smile.

"See you later, uncle Angus," Nina was already half out the door, but stopped and turned to look at him. "You'll find him, won't you?"

"Aye lass. I'll do my very best."

.

* * *

.

They walked along hallways and passages in silence, and he tried to give her a bit of a tour of the castle… but it didn't feel right. This was supposed to be _fun_ , and _exciting_ , filled with grand tales of their adventures, the memories of which popped up almost around every corner.

That was what Sirius had pictured, James knew. But he wasn't here, and without him, it just wasn't the same. Nina had lost her happy exterior as soon as they left the Head office, and looked now as tense as they all felt, but the boys were all trying to hide it.

James hadn't let go of Nina's hand, sensing that she needed the closeness. Remus had an arm wrapped protectively around her, and even Pete was trying to cheer her up as they went, talking about the brilliant people she'd meet in her new House.

And damned if they weren't trying to keep things light for her sake. It's what Sirius would have wanted. They did it, because she more than liked him; they did it, because he more than liked her too, and it was no secret how much he'd been looking forward to right now. They did it, because Sirius wasn't here, and while there was still every chance that he'd manage to get here, there was also still every chance that they wouldn't see him again.

No, he _wouldn't_ have missed this for the world, and that was what made James feel worse; the knowledge that, whatever had happened, it was bad enough to keep Sirius away from the one event he'd been thinking about night and day since Angus announced that Nina could come here. It had filled his mind whenever he wasn't thinking about spellwork, and he'd fried James' brain with a myriad plans to entertain her once she got to school.

 _Sirius, where_ _ **are**_ _you?_ James thought desperately. _Did you hear me when I said you were right and Nina made Ravenclaw? I got your Galleons right here, damn you, so come back already, and collect!_

Aloud, he said, "Well, this is the Fifth Floor… your Common Room is just around the corner. Do you want to go in, or would you rather—"

"He'll be okay, you know." Nina was giving him a look with those intense blue eyes that he couldn't ignore; it was as though she could see right through him, and _somehow_ , those hollow words, spoken from her mouth, felt truly reassuring.

"How can you know that?" he asked, sounding as heartbroken as he felt, quite despite himself.

"Because he promised," she said simply, still fixing him with that deep, knowing sort of look. "He _promised_ , James." She smiled at him and drew him into a hug that actually managed to comfort him, somehow. Suddenly James understood why Sirius had fallen for her like he had. "And I just _know_ , that all the Death Eaters in the world won't stop him from keeping that promise— they already haven't, twice. Keep trying, and you'll get through to him. And… tell me when you hear something, okay?"

"Nina McAlpin?" Amelia Bones, Ravenclaw Prefect and the Marauders' friend and favourite nemesis, called, turning the corner. Next to them, Pete blushed crimson and let out a tiny squeak that went ignored. Nina turned to look at her and nodded her hellos.

"Here," James said, pulling one of the Two-Way Mirrors out of his pocket and giving it to Nina. "That way we can tell you as soon as we know."

"And you call us if you get lost or need anything," Remus offered.

Nina drew them all into a big hug, squishing them together. James' head knocked against Remus', and Pete let out another squeak.

"I'll see you later, okay?" she told them, giving each a peck on the cheek. "And boys? Don't do anything stupid without me."

She'd long turned the corner with Amelia, before the boys moved at all. They were all giving the empty hallway the same stunned sort of look.

Remus was the first to move, raising his eyebrows so high they vanished under his fringe.

"He's _one_ lucky sod," he established after a moment.

Peter actually snickered.

"Mate, she just gave you _both_ the PISS."

James and Remus turned to stare at their chubby friend, who grinned toothily at them and shrugged. Apparently he hadn't lost his bearings altogether, not like they had.

"What? I was staring at _Amelia_. I _like_ how she looks when she walks."

.

* * *

.

Sirius landed behind a huge oak tree in the Forbidden Forest with a quiet _whoosh_. Up ahead, Druid Rock was barely visible, and he could already hear some familiar — and most unwelcome — voices trailing from there. They hadn't been bluffing - they _were_ preparing to attack Hogwarts.

Worse still was the smell. Dark magic was at play here, of a kind that made him bristle; it was the same smell he'd found so tantalising at the Potters', only, this time, he knew what it meant.

Hogwarts castle towered in the distance; Sirius could see the Astronomy Tower very clearly from here, and part of him wished he would just go dog and make a break for it— but he _wouldn't_ , not just yet. What was the _point_ of going back safely, if a few days from now at most, they'd all be overrun by Death Eaters? By the lord _Thingy_?

Maybe someone with an ounce of sense would have gone to the castle, told the Headmaster, and cut his losses later, but to Sirius this wasn't an option; not really. Maybe it was just him taking it all personally, but how could he not?

While Godric's Hall had become home only recently, he still felt the sting of loss when he thought about it; he'd seen the heartbreak in Mr. P's face when he saw it taken over with such apparent ease, when the lord Thingy waltzed into the one family room he'd never be welcomed in as though he owned the place. _Hogwarts_ , though… it was the only home Sirius had ever known, and he didn't wish an attack on any of the witches and wizards who were just now having their breakfasts, completely ignorant of the danger brewing not half a mile away.

 _Well_ , he amended. _Maybe Snape. And Cissy._ They could get the full brunt of it, for all he cared— but.

All his friends were at school, James was there, and Reg, even _Nina_ — she'd be arriving within the hour, and hadn't he sworn he'd look out for her, all day, every day?

Wasn't it worth it, then, to take a small detour and make damn sure where the Munchers were, so the Headmaster could do _something_ about it?

He decided it was. There were many reasons to stay, and only one reason to leave— and it wasn't even a reason. Sirius wasn't running from the Dark Side anymore. He'd done enough of that, and what had he gained?

Now he was, maybe not running, but creeping _towards_ them. And he'd be damned if he let them get away with touching his school, his friends, his brothers, even his so-called enemies.

Reasoning done with, he cast a Disillusionment Charm, rapping the top of his head with his wand, and took shelter in the thicket while he approached the voices. None sounded particularly happy, but there were only five of them here.

While five were usually considered a host, Sirius hadn't seen fewer than twenty lately, so he might be excused for feeling relieved.

It didn't last.

Something else was tugging at his consciousness, as he stole forward in the direction of the voices as best he could.

 _James_.

Sirius blinked, momentarily thrown off his focus as James' voice appeared in his head. He sounded very far away, too faint to make out any words, but the emotions behind his call were clear.

James was _worried_ — Sirius was late and hadn't spared a minute to explain himself at all, but hard as it was, James would also have to wait. They all would; this was more important, and if he couldn't afford any distractions before, now things had become all the more delicate.

Sirius focused on what was going on a few yards ahead. He didn't have time to get into a mind-to-mind argument right now, he _needed_ to do this first, and in the best of cases, James wouldn't understand. In the worst of cases, he'd want to _help_ , Sirius was certain because, were the tables turned, that was what he'd want to do. So, he closed himself off completely and forward he went, until he saw what the group of Munchers were doing. He watched them at work for a few moments, flattening himself on the ground, completely still.

This position was maybe perfect to spy on them — as a rule, Purebloods sucked at looking at what was going around below their knee-level, which was partly why he had escaped so successfully in his dog form for years. Despite being the size of a moorland pony, as a dog, all he had to do was blend in with low-lying shadows, and he'd be as good as invisible. However, after a few minutes, lying where he was became amazingly uncomfortable. His midriff was starting to sting and ache and he soon found himself silently begging for a softer surface, but it was too late to move.

"Yaxley, widen that other Mimic Charm a bit— good, now Alecto, push the red ward up a bit." Sirius knew the speaker well; it was Amycus. He was not two feet away, and Sirius had a full view of his vast backside as he surveyed the work being done up ahead.

 _Oh, hoggy warty Hogwarts, what I do for you_ , Sirius thought woefully, closely watching the spells being cast. The Mimic Charm was kind of teal-coloured at first, and then glowed… taking the exact shape, colour, and form of whatever ward they wanted to replace.

The Mimic Charm went red, and Sirius saw it blend in seamlessly with a see-through, ten-foot tall Hogwarts House Elf that shimmered into view in midair.

"Okay, now let's add in our surprise visitors," Amycus said, raising his wand and muttering a spell.

As Sirius watched with fascination, the House Elf just stood there, glowing brightly, and was hit by a beam that looked like dirty snow. The House Elf slowly morphed— and was eaten up by a ten-foot tall hooded figure.

_So that's how they're doing it._

The smell of sewage filled the forest, so suddenly that Sirius recoiled out of instinct, fighting the urge to gag.

He soon noticed something else— his leg was cramping up, and he suddenly remembered losing his leg support in the vaults.

 _Blast_. Now Mrs. P would be cross at him all over.

He found it was a truly frightening prospect.

He _had_ to move, but there was only one way: forward. Anything else would just make too much noise.

Only, _forward_ meant all but bumping into Amycus' bum, and part-time canine though he might be, his urges to sniff crotches did not carry _that_ far, no matter what Remus had to say on the matter.

As an afterthought, Sirius figured that he'd also be discovered, and he hadn't even spied on the other two groups trying to breach the castle yet.

"If we work through the night, we'll break through tomorrow," said Amycus, as Sirius was pondering these weighty matters whilst trying to shift into a marginally more comfortable position without making any noise. He looked up, his aches forgotten for a few heartbeats.

_Tomorrow?_

"Why did you tell Dolohov we'd need three days, then?" Alecto asked her brother. Sirius couldn't see his face, but he was sure Amycus was grinning as he spoke.

"Because that way we'll be rewarded for our efficiency," he said pompously. "We'll breach the school before anyone else and our Lord will reward us for our diligence, even if this is only the point of entry for the Dementors."

_Dementors?!_

Sirius swallowed dryly, his heart thumping in his chest so hard, he feared someone would hear.

Dementors were bad enough news, but weren't they all in _Azkaban_?

"So what do you want to do?"

"We'll finish here and then go help Bellatrix over at the lake. You carry on with what you're doing," Amycus instructed. "I'll go and see how her ladyship is doing."

Alecto and Yaxley let out sniggers, but Sirius was feeling rather alarmed.

 _Bugger_ , he was leaving!

Sirius couldn't pass up this chance to slipstream, but could he apparate lying down? Did he even want to _risk_ it?

Or…?

 _Idea_.

In the space of a thought, Sirius vanished and Padfoot was lying there, flat on the ground. His right hindquarter protested the movement as he went into as low a crouch as he could, but he was completely focused on Amycus, who was taking a couple of steps back… and disapparated with a _bang_. Sirius focused on the wizard's slipstream, turning on his paws—

And what do you know, he _could_ apparate as a dog.

_Ha ha!_

He touched ground an instant later, in time to see Amycus waddle a couple of steps ahead, towards the lakeshore.

Disillusioned as he was, Sirius stood very still, blending in with the scenery, relieved that nobody else was close by; apparently the Death Eaters had a specific apparition point, probably to avoid splinching. It was also lucky that Amycus had moved; otherwise Sirius would have slammed into him, just as he had with James countless times before, he mused, as he took in his new surroundings.

And they were literally new; he'd never been on the far shore of the Hogwarts Lake, and he absently wondered why, it was a very pretty corner of the world, really. Nobody bothered coming here, because it was smack in the Forest, but there was a tiny lip of land that stuck into the lake, like a tongue. The Death Eaters were all milling about further away, hidden from Hogwarts entirely; at the tip of the tongue of land, there were a bunch of large boulders, hiding them from view. The hideout was _perfect_.

"Hello, Bella," Amycus' drawl trailed to his ears. Hackles rising, Sirius inched his way forward, sniffing the air to identify who all was here.

_The hexing hell — is_ _**everyone** _ _here?_

At least twenty different Death Eater scents carried to his probing nose, slamming into his nostrils along with the smell of sewage that came with whatever they were doing. He also picked apart anger, frustration, and his cousin's trademark impatience.

Things here _weren't_ going well. Or so he hoped; there was every chance they were just still mad at having been beaten in Edinburgh earlier.

"What do you _want_ , Carrow?" Bellatrix snapped.

"Just wondering if you need a hand," Amycus' tone had become so oily, Sirius wondered if his crazed cousin had turned him into a tub of lard. Or maybe it was his secret power - Lardimagus.

"Leave me alone," she muttered.

"We _could_ use some help, though," Rodolphus pointed out next, reasonably. If he was willing to accept aid from _Carrow_ , they must be doing very badly indeed, Sirius decided, padding soundlessly to a nearby cluster of trees; he needed an apparition point of his own, after all, and as a dog distance wasn't a problem; he heard them even better than as a human without having to go any closer, and he could keep the weight off his gammy leg much more easily this way.

However, even after finding himself a nicely concealed spot, at first it was rather disappointing to spy on them, because all they did was bicker among themselves. Sirius had seen enough of their inane Pureblood arguments for a lifetime, and curled up under yet another bush, ears pricked up and trying to keep as still as his throbbing leg and midriff would allow.

In the distance, the invisible Hogwarts bells chimed for first class; it was nine o'clock, then. Sirius wondered if Nina and Angus had made it safely to the school, and what House she'd gotten Sorted into; but that train of thought only led him to worry all the more about the goings-on a handful of yards away, where Rodolphus was finally filling Carrow in on what they were doing and discussing their plans for the near future.

Long story short, it was all-around _bad_.

It was worse than bad, but Sirius didn't have a word to describe it just yet; as far as he could gather, the Death Eaters were planning on attacking at three points: the Lake Entrance, which was usually only used by First Years arriving for their Sorting, would be the Munchers' _apparent_ main point of entry; fifty Dementors would sweep in through the opening provided for them at Druid Rock; and while everyone was rushing to fight the Death Eaters on the Lake and the Dementors on the grounds, the rest of them would be going in through the kitchens, aided by a handful of House Elves — helpfully provided by the Black family.

 _Figures_. He could bet that Elladora and his own mum had jumped at the chance to share their plethora of servants with the lord Thingy.

The Death Eaters set to work, and bloody hell - Amycus was _good_ at breaking wards. As Sirius watched, the alarms were keyed to admit Death Eaters, and by the time the bell for second period rang, they were already casting the Mimic Charm successfully on the first Dark Magic Ward.

Sirius inwardly cursed, but as yet, his mind hadn't come up with a plan to stop or stall them. He had to find the rest of them first, he supposed. That last spot would probably be the most dangerous. It was also the one he had no idea how to find; the Marauders usually did their marauding on this side of the castle. The Forbidden Forest had been their private playground for years, the barren, rocky outcrop of hills behind the castle seemed dead dull in comparison to a place where you could find a Centaur or a Troll, or even a Dragon if you knew where to look.

He remembered the third group being somewhere in the said dull hills behind the castle. On the western side, they'd said. Seeing how fast they were suddenly progressing here, it was increasingly pressing to find out where Avery and his playmates were.

Sirius hadn't been out that way very often, but he focused on one cluster of boulders that was more or less near the western wings of the castle, from which he and Pete had launched some fireworks for Remus' last birthday. Maybe he could just sort of sniff them out from there.

A soft _whoosh_ and a second later, he was blending in with rock.

"Oi! Who's there?" a startled voice called, and Sirius froze, eyes wide in surprise. He'd landed smack in the middle of the Munchers' operation!

_You've_ _**got** _ _to be kidding me._

He pressed himself against the stony backdrop, hackles rising.

Well.

He inwardly shrugged. At least he hadn't wasted any time looking for Avery and his goons; they were all not three feet away, looking for _him_ now, six wands pointed more or less accurately at his furry face.

_Blast it._

It was as though Avery could read minds. He shot a Blasting Curse at the spot where Sirius was standing, blindly, but not without aim. Rock sprayed everywhere, but Sirius wasn't there anymore. When he popped up on top of a nearby boulder, he wasn't a dog, either.

"You really need to brush up on your aim," he taunted, pointing his wand at the six Death Eaters below. He couldn't help himself, it was as if his mouth had a mind of its own. As did his brain — spells started flying, and so much for just spying on the Death Eaters and warning the castle; he now had a new priority: staying alive and making sure _they_ didn't warn the rest of them.

Only, he mused absently as he was sent flying down an ice-covered slope and rolled out of the way of a Killing Curse, staying alive was probably not going to be as easy as it sounded.

His leg protesting every move, he staggered to his feet, and as he did so, three figures rose along with him, solid granite growing hands and feet and moving of its own accord. The first lost its head before it was even fully formed, but Sirius managed to duck out of the way of both projectile and hex, backhanding it with a repelling curse, like a bludger. One of the Death Eaters - Bode, maybe? - caught it in his lower half with a very satisfying grunt.

He'd learnt a lot over the past couple of weeks, but Mr. P's advice had always been: _Play to your strengths_.

So, Sirius did just that.

Transfiguration came naturally to him, and the hillside came alive, fighting the Death Eaters as ferociously as he himself was; boulders sprouted arms and heads and claws and things, and some of his golems even made it to their feet before they were blasted to bits.

 _Blind them if you can, confused targets make easier targets_ , Mr. P's voice resounded in his head, and moments later, they were all engulfed in thick fog, which gave Sirius the chance to repeat his earlier trick, apparating back and forth to drive them insane.

Except, he was done with harmless things like yanking hair or making them stumble.

Now, he brought out the best of his arsenal... Starting with the fearsome Incontinence Jinx.

"C'mon, you can do better than that!" he yelled, his favourite fire arrow spell flashing in the air, causing a still-wheezing Bode, Avery and Goyle to scatter. Sirius followed up with three bone-breakers in quick succession, using his Quidditch skills to great effect.

The retaliation was equally fierce, but shortly after, two were down for the count, which left four very hacked off Death Eaters to fight…

Sirius dodged left, then had to flatten himself on the ground, biting back a yelp as a Slashing Curse whizzed narrowly past overhead.

Mrs. P would be _**so**_ pissed at him later; he'd already made a mess of her bandaging. If he cracked his skull open one more time, he feared she'd reach the end of her considerable patience.

There was no time to stop and think about it — he had to roll next, out of the way of a volley of curses, which his hastily-thrown-up shield shattered against. Sirius scrambled away, apparating away and popping up behind them before he'd even gotten to his feet.

"Really, Bode? You're no fun at _all_ ," he stated, casting a handful of petrifying curses as fast as he could, just as they were turning around to shred him to bits, as they had become used to doing.

Only, those days were _over_ , as they soon realised. _  
_

There was, after all, no better way to get a point across than bouncing their spells back at them.

A moment later, there were four _thuds_ , and silence was restored. A few flicks of his wand had the Death Eaters petrified and piled up, and Sirius thought that storing them underground — and getting them chewed on — would drive the point home further. " _Manducor terram_. You can stay there for a bit. I'll send someone to collect you soon," Sirius informed them cockily, but not without reason.

He was out of breath, a bit banged up and running on an adrenaline high, but for once, he'd _come out on top_.

He half couldn't believe it, but he'd _won_ — he'd just bloody _won_ a _duel_! And he'd done it, for the first time, without any outside help.

It felt BLOODY _AWESOME_.

Sirius pointed his wand upwards. " _Canem Rugiens!_ " he shouted triumphantly, not caring if it echoed off the castle walls nearby; the Bark Mark exploded into view in the sky the next instant, howling in glee much like he was.

His ecstatic mind had just come up with an idea, and having stopped _one_ bunch of Munchers suddenly wasn't enough.

Sod his previous plan.

He'd get them _all_.

Right now.

.

* * *

.

Third period History of Magic had never been _this_ dull, James was sure. He slumped against his seat, half-listening to Binns drone on and on about the Second Goblin War, trying hard not to sigh every two seconds.

Of Sirius there was still no sign, and he stared at the parchment next to his history book, where he, Remus, and Peter were passing notes. Usually their chats were entertaining at worst and hilarious at best, but this time it was all a string of:

_Anything? - W._

Nope - Pr

**How about now? - M**

Nothing Moony, stop asking. -Pr

_C'mon, not even a_ _ hint _ _? - W_

Gah, Wormy, I got nothing! - Pr

**Are you sure you're calling loudly enough? -M**

Dammit, any louder and my brain will go deaf. I said there's no answer! -Pr

**Try again! - M**

_Try harder! - W_

Leave me alone. - Pr

_Anything? - W_

James sighed heavily, jotting down the date Binns wanted them to research something or other from — he'd totally missed what he was on about now — when a new message appeared on his parchment.

**LOOK OUT THE WINDOW** **NOW** **\- M**

James did… and gaped.

Padfoot's head was frolicking in the sky, almost level with his eyes.

Ignoring the old doddering wizard droning on next to the chalkboard, James left his seat and rushed to the window, opening it as wide as it would go. Freezing air blew in, but he didn't care; he was leaning out the window, trying to see what was going on below, oblivious to the scraping of chairs around him as the Hufflepuffs and all other Gryffindors followed his example.

 _ **SIRIUS**_ _! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?_ He bellowed it out in his mind, louder and more frantic than ever.

He broke through Sirius' block with the force of a sledgehammer.

 _GAH, OW,_ _ **OW**_ _— WHAT THE HELL PRONGS, STOP SHOUTING!_ Sirius bellowed back, and it was so loud James fell over backwards, hands flying to his sharply stinging head. Where their link had been, not merely closed, but barricaded and sealed off, now it was suddenly wide open, and he had a clear view of Sirius' point of view. He was in the Forbidden Forest, not far from Hagrid's, and he was in a bit of a fix.

There were hands grabbing him, helping him to an unsteady stand. Remus was saying something to old Binns, but the wizard droned out something about how they needed to sit down, and that a goblin named Grappler had single-handedly stolen the Arthur Hoard and taken it to Gringotts, or something — James didn't pay any attention to that. He was miles away, and he was hurting all over.

Because Sirius was, too, just now, and it was him James was focusing on.

 _Are you alright?_ he asked.

_Yeah, Prongs. Sort of. Still in one piece, but I don't have much time. Listen up and get out of class. And get Remus, we need Remus. He runs faster than you._

_Yeah, we're all here_ , James answered, absently noting that Remus was dragging him down a corridor now, Peter in tow.

"Remus, stop," he said aloud, surprised at how hard it was to speak. "I need to sit down a sec."

"You need to go to the Hospital Wing, mate. Your ears are bleeding."

"Wha—" James didn't get to finish.

 _Go to Dumbledore, now!_ Sirius interrupted in his head, drowning out whatever Remus was saying. _There's a bunch of Death Eaters in the Forest, he needs to call in the Aurors, quick!_

"Dumbledore," James told Remus, shaking his head to clear it. His ears were ringing, and Peter was holding a handkerchief to his nose. James took it from him. "There are Death Eaters in the Forest, he says to go to Dumbledore. _Remus, run_!"

_He's on his way, what's going on?_

_Hold on_ — Sirius' voice was gone, but James had shifted completely into his mind, and he could see everything Sirius was seeing. In the background, Peter was all but carrying him to Dumbledore's office, but he didn't notice— this was more important.

Sirius was duelling a handful of Death Eaters, apparating all over the Forest it seemed, and he was making trees slam into the robed figures repeatedly.

 _To your left!_ James warned, catching a glimpse of black out of the corner of Sirius' eye.

 _Cheers,_ Sirius said, and the Death Eater went down, whacked aside by a pine tree that turned into a fist and pummelled the figure over and over again. Sirius apparated again, then rolled away from what James was pretty sure was an Entrail-Expelling Curse — and the next instant, the Death Eater (Yaxley, Sirius' mind supplied) went down, unconscious.

_Shite._

_What?_

_One of them just ran — okay, listen. They're corrupting the wards, they're using something called a Mimic Charm, and it's somehow fooling the wards to let them in. We need a counter charm for that._

_Like at home?!_

_Yeah, only a million times worse._ Sirius' perception shifted, and suddenly he had his fur on and was limping down a path, towards the Lake. _They're — they're bringing Dementors in through Hagrid's_ , he told him, stopping near a thicket and flopping down on the ground to catch his breath. _There's a bunch of them who want to go in through the Lake, I'll mark the spot and everything in a minute— but there's_ _ **loads**_ _of them, James. And get this — they are infiltrating the castle using bloomin'_ _ **House Elves**_ _._

_Just get back here, will you?_

_Yeah, I'm just marking the spot where the last group is, for the Aurors to find. Then I'm heading back right away. Tell Dumbledore to get Moody, hurry._

Sirius was gone again, leaving James' ears ringing.

"C'mon, Pete," James said, staggering drunkenly ahead. "We've got to warn Dumbledore."

"What happened?" Peter asked. He was shaking a little, or maybe it was all James himself. His knees were threatening to buckle under his weight, and as he stopped for a breather, he saw a second Padfoot head was floating above the Forest, not far from Hagrid's hut, exactly where Sirius had said.

"I think we're under attack," James answered his chubby friend. "Or, we were, until just now."

.

* * *

.

Sirius left James to make his way to Dumbledore's office, aware that whatever time he'd thought he had before, had now disappeared. He wasn't sure which one of the Death Eaters had managed to get away, but they'd manage to warn the rest.

So much for the element of surprise.

The _only_ chance he had, was to get there quickly, before they could come up with a plan. Because they sodding loved making plans for every little thing - and planning ahead to seem innocent and blame the others if they failed.

And the best counter-measure for that, Sirius decided, was going in _without_ one.

He popped up a little ways away from the lake, where the Death Eaters were clustering. Clearly, they were giving in to their favourite activity, discussing how they'd react to his arrival.

"Do you think he'll fall for it?" A hooded wizard was saying. His voice was so muffled, Sirius couldn't make out who it was. He crept closer, under the flimsy protection of a bush and a hasty Disillusionment Charm.

"He already did," said another, and Sirius recognised the trademark Malfoy slur an instant before realisation hit. "He's right over… _there_."

Lucius' wand was pointed straight at him. Sirius realised an instant too late that, whatever spells they were using, they alerted them if any kind of magic was cast nearby.

A crimson curse hit the spot where he'd been crouching, and Sirius scrambled away barely in time. He animated the trees around him to catch the brunt of the spells, while he figured out where everyone was— oh.

They had surrounded him.

_Bugger._

Sirius tried to apparate away — but couldn't. They had him effectively trapped.

 _Ah. Bollocks,_ he thought.

.

* * *

TBC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Dumbledore calls the Aurors, Angus and Moody share a drink with a goat, the Marauders finally unearth their fireworks, the Squid knows CPR, Sirius makes the Death Eaters laugh and then gets a subpoena (which makes him laugh - not), and Betty isn't cross, but plenty of others are. Like, royally.


	20. The Power of One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Some more freaking out, and more bashing going round. We find out how one person can constitute an ambush, if that person is named Sirius Black (whom I finally managed to get to school! #accomplishment). I feel for truancy officers right now, I really do. Also, the cavalry arrives… and it spells disaster. Sirius gets arrested, the Squid knows CPR or the Heimlich Maneuver, or something, Moody sees the sense of getting his infamous flask, and some prominent members of society are quite miffed.
> 
> Oh, and the fic just gained three more chapters, upping the count to 27. Let's see if Sirius allows me to stop there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Some is mine, some is not, some is good, some is… rot?

 

* * *

**Part Twenty: The Power of One**

* * *

.

"He said _what_?" Moody boomed, his head stuck in Aberforth's fireplace.

"Give me a moment," Albus said, stepping away from Alastor's already narrow field of vision. A moment later, he came back, with James Potter. "I think it's better if you hear it from the source, as it were."

"What happened to _you_?" Alastor barked, making them give a start. He usually enjoyed it when they jumped so he made a point of bellowing stuff out when people least expected it, but this time he was earnestly surprised. "Does something always have to be the matter?"

"I s'pose," Potter answered lightly. The cotton balls up his nostrils made him sound stuffy, and was that blood down his ears? He didn't appear to be bothered by it, however.

"Well, out with it, we don't have all day," Alastor prompted impatiently.

"I got in touch with Sirius earlier," said Potter. "Right around the time when the Bark Mark appeared in the sky…"

"The _what_ mark? Oh," Alastor suddenly remembered. "You mean… the dog thing?"

"Yeah, the dog thing," Potter confirmed with a grin. "Anyway, I got through to him then, and he said that the Death Eaters are trying to trick the wards in and around Hogwarts to attack here…"

" _What?!_ "

Potter explained what he had heard from Sirius, and Alastor's eyebrows rose all the higher. They hadn't known, despite the Aurors watching the area like hawks — or so he'd thought — there hadn't been so much as a _hint_ of Death Eater activity around the school or Hogsmeade. How Sirius had found out about the Dark Side's next intended target was anyone's guess, but Alastor wasn't thick enough to doubt the truth of what he was hearing. The kid was surprisingly knowledgeable regarding the Dark Side.

"Can't he stay out of trouble for _one_ morning?" he asked wearily.

James only shrugged and gave him a lopsided sort of grin.

"You know he can't."

"He's a bloody Death Eater magnet."

"Yep." James used a hanky to clean out his ears. "Anyway, he got into a fight with them, and he's already marked two places where they were working on the wards, he's trying to mark the third now. They're using something called a Mimic Charm to fool the wards, do you know how to counter it?"

"I'll run it by Angus," Alastor promised. "Tell Albus to send us a Patronus if you hear anything else." He backed away from the flames to cut the connection, but only for a moment. He had another call to make.

"Aberforth, have you got any more Floo Powder?"

"That'll be two Sickles," Aberforth grumbled, nodding at the jar he kept on the counter. He didn't even stop grooming his goat, so Alastor helped himself. The goat helped itself to Alastor's glass of water.

"Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Auror Headquarters!" he barked into the grate, making the goat bleat in alarm; the animal jumped and kicked out. In the background, Aberforth cursed.

Alastor forgot all about Aberforth and his goats, ordering his Aurors here on the double. He turned around to fill Angus in, and the Minister of Mysteries dashed off at once, to seek out where the Bark Mark could be spotted from.

"Oy! He didn't pay his bill!" Aberforth exclaimed. Alastor grinned at him, taking a swig of water even as the fireplace flared green. It was full of… _was this spit?!_

While he sputtered and gagged, the Hog's Head fireplace went non-stop. Out marched thirty Aurors, one after another; outside, there were many _cracks_ and _pops_ and _bangs_ , indicating that another thirty were apparating in.

"And that'll be two Sickles _each_!" snapped Aberforth. "My pub is not a bloomin' transport hub!"

"Ah, Aberforth, but I'm sure you don't mind helping the Ministry out," grinned Alastor. "Doing your civic duty and all." He hobbled out, barking out his orders and drowning out the furious Dumbledore, wondering if he had time to make a quick dash to buy a flask.

Moments later, he had put all thoughts of goats and pub-keepers out of his mind.

"Well bugger me backwards," he muttered, as he and Sam Proudfoot apparated to the nearby hilltop Angus had called them to, to get a better view. Two of those ridiculous Bark Marks were floating in the sky, marking the locations where Black had found Death Eaters so far.

"You take Scrimgeour's team over there," he ordered the aged Auror, pointing at the furthest one. "I'll take the rest to the Forest. Report once you've secured the area, and I'll send the Minister of Mysteries over to fix the wards. Help him in any way you can. OY! YOU LOT!" he bellowed the instant he appeared outside Aberforth's pub. The old wizard was counting out Galleons, which he was fishing out of a disgruntled Scrimgeour's purse. Alastor snorted.

 _Scrimgeour, you softy_.

"YOU'RE WITH ME, LEG IT!" He hurried down the path, forty Aurors in tow, and moments later they were standing next to Druid Rock, which marked the border of the school grounds.

"What the _hell_ happened here?" asked Emily Savage, nonplussed. Alastor raised an eyebrow, impressed. Emily had been an Auror for over a decade, but she didn't have Alastor's flair for disassembling a crime scene; to him, it was like reading an open book, but he wasn't about to teach her now.

"Apparently, they were ambushed," he summarised at a grunt.

Trees had been uprooted, several deep craters and cracks gouged the earth, and a giant shimmering fist was pinning a Death Eater down, up ahead. Alastor strode over and fished the fallen figure from under what turned out to be a transfigured tree.

"What do you know, like father, like son," he growled. "Get me some restraints, this one just earned himself a visit to see his dear old dad, haven't you, Yaxley?"

" _Ungh_ ," muttered Yaxley, cross-eyed and dazed.

"My thoughts exactly," Alastor said placidly, then barked, "Comb the place, according to Dumbledore's message, there are at least thirty more Death Eaters nearby, so be on your guard, and look out for another one of these—" he pointed upwards, at the giant dog's head, "— which may yet pop up. If you do see one, apparate there at once and secure the location."

No sooner had he finished speaking, that a tremor shook the ground, making a host of birds fly up with an ear-splitting racket.

"Get ready!" yelled Emily, her wand aimed at the nearby thicket. "They're coming!"

.

* * *

.

"Not so cocky now, are you, you Muggle-loving _fool_?" Lucius sneered, his wand pointed at Sirius' chest.

Apparition wasn't an option — he'd tried to, over and over since they surrounded him earlier— and he'd had to dodge and roll and bloody _jump_ out of the way of curses he didn't even know or care to know the names of. It was a miracle his head was still attached to his shoulders.

It was an even greater miracle that his leg hadn't fallen off yet, as well.

However, his luck had run out just a few seconds ago; he'd rolled left when he should've rolled right — and now he had no wand, his vision was swimming, _annnd_ his right arm was hanging at an odd angle. His Disillusionment Charm had long vanished, too.

Sirius squinted at Malfoy, part disbelieving — did this utterly phony git really think he was _scary_? — and part exhausted. He hadn't even managed to put up a Bark Mark here, and the Death Eaters were already scrambling to the hills to get their mates out of trouble.

Disquieting as this notion was, Sirius figured that he had more pressing matters to attend, right this minute.

As if trying to remind him of that fact, Lucius aimed a kick at his midriff, making Sirius double over. Pain shot from his chest all the way to his back, creating a whole new set of imperatives on his agenda.

"I'm just thinking you should chill, man," Sirius wheezed out, his left hand inching towards his right, where he kept his ancestor's wand. If James had called the Aurors, the cavalry should arrive in a minute. If the Aurors _weren't_ coming, he'd need an edge to get out of here alive.

Either way, he couldn't afford to focus on how awful he was feeling, so he switched to an outlet he'd used for years, to great effect.

"You're all _stressed,_ " he added, keeping his voice as casual as he could make it. "It'll give you wrinkles, and we both know how you would _hate_ looking old."

Laughter erupted somewhere behind him.

"Looks like it wasn't _Narcissa's_ facial cream you were carrying around, eh, Malfoy?" Alecto Carrow giggled.

"Nah, I bet it was his, Lucy here _always_ moisturises," Sirius quipped, making the Death Eaters laugh louder. Lucius was going rather pink with suppressed rage, but still Sirius went on. "That rosy complexion is the result of very _careful_ grooming, right? And don't get me started on his hair care—"

"No wonder you want to marry Narcissa," Bellatrix giggled.

"Their pillow talk centres around exchanging beauty tips," Sirius threw in. "Guess who knows the best. Hint: it's not a Black."

"Shut up, you!" The next kick flipped him over.

_Ow._

"No, no, I understand," Sirius swallowed back the wince that was fighting its way out of his throat, replacing it with a chuckle. "She _does_ give the best, most delicate manicures and pedicures _ever_."

Now all the Death Eaters were laughing. Sirius managed to grab onto his right wrist, white-hot pain shooting all the way to his shoulder.

"Besides," Sirius added, blinking away some black specks in his vision, "she's _ever so good_ at sharing the lingerie— I'd want to marry her too, if I swung that way."

Loud guffaws erupted all around him; Bellatrix' were the loudest.

"Are you the same size knickers as her?" she asked, doubled over laughing.

"He's also the same size bra," Sirius grinned.

"I _knew it_!" Bellatrix gasped for breath hysterically, she was laughing so hard.

Lucius shot a glare at her, looking away from Sirius for just one second— but that was enough.

" _Terra glutio_ ," he muttered, tapping his wand on the ground. A moment later, he was staggering to his feet on the lip of land where the Death Eaters had been working a few minutes ago.

The wild laughter cut off abruptly.

"Where did he go?!"

He gave the nonplussed Death Eaters a wave, cradling his arm against his chest and leaning against the rocks that hid them from view.

"Over here!" he called, even as overhead, the Bark Mark was finally flaring up in the sky.

A Cruciatus sailed through the air, followed by a literal host of curses, as they all focused on him, their previous hilarity forgotten. Gods, they were so _easy_ to goad— all it took lately was him saying hi, and they were on him like a swarm of killer bees.

 _Unlike_ a swarm of bees, though, they made _mistakes_ when they got angry, and sore losers that they were, they hung on to grudges with vehemence.

Sirius just flicked his wand, and the boulders that had provided the Death Eaters with the most perfect hiding place shifted and tumbled in front of him, catching every single curse… and getting blasted to bits.

"He's _mine_!" Bellatrix yelled, already racing towards him.

"Trixie Pixie!" Sirius called, somehow still managing to sound cheerful. Behind her, the rest were following at a run. "I'm flattered, but you know what I think of inbreeding, I mean, just _look at yoursel_ f — it's really _not_ convenient to continue that particular family tradition."

"I'll _KILL YOU_!" she screeched. The next moment, predictably, another Cruciatus sailed past his head. Sirius didn't move to dodge it, busy gauging distance. Angry, Bellatrix had dreadful aim. Really, she was worse than Pete.

They were close enough, he decided. And if they weren't, well, he'd have to deal with them later. He muttered a spell, jabbing his good arm forward in an arc.

" _Really_ , cousin. You should…all… _chill_."

A thirty-foot column of swirling water surged up, following his motion— and shot at his cousin, sending her and most everyone else flying backwards.

" _Glacium!_ " he snapped, freezing the water— and a couple of unlucky Grindylows that had been scooped out of the lake.

 _Oops_.

Sirius didn't get the chance to see the result of his spell.

He completely missed how ten tons of frozen water made a considerable dent in the ground, shaking the earth and sending the Death Eaters who hadn't been frozen flying every which way; he didn't see as the Grindylows took out their anger at being so rudely yanked out of their slumber on the first witch or wizard they encountered on the sodden ground; he also missed how the finger of land he was on became a sandy sort of island that would later be named Dog's Island and become a favourite snogging destination.

The only thing Sirius registered, was a flash of electric blue that slammed into him from the side and sent him flying, and then landing in the freezing water with a _splash_.

He didn't have time to yelp, or gasp, or even brace himself, before the sheer cold drew the air from his lungs so fast it hurt. He was sinking, trying to kick himself upwards, when something grabbed him around the waist, holding fast.

He panicked.

It wasn't the regular sort of panic, either— by the time he realised he needed to breathe and couldn't, he went all-out bonkers, his mind screaming, begging for air — but nothing he did worked at all.

Sirius tried to twist himself free, struggled frantically against the merciless hold, vaguely aware that he was moving through the water, very fast—

And then the world went black.

.

* * *

.

" _THERE_!" Peter hollered, half-hanging out of Dumbledore's open window. Nobody paid him any mind, everyone was looking to where he was pointing.

The third Bark Mark had finally appeared, James could see the flash of light as it shot into the sky, dog's head unfurling like an enormous banner.

" _Expecto Patronum_!" Dumbledore's phoenix erupted from his wand, speeding to the newly-made clearing near Hagrid's, where they could still barely make out the tiny figures of the Aurors battling a group of black-robed Death Eaters.

James though, had his eyes fixed on the spot right underneath the Bark Mark, where he could just make out the beams of spells crisscrossing through the trees, his view obscured by huge boulders that were… _moving_?

Yes, they were.

A moment later, a dozen spells slammed into the boulders, blasting them to smithereens.

"Down there, _look_!" Remus spotted Sirius first. He was easily visible now the boulders were gone, standing on a previously invisible finger of land jutting out into the lake.

Now they were _all_ half hanging out of Dumbledore's window. Even Dumbledore.

James was squished between the Headmaster and Nina, but the cramped conditions didn't diminish the view— he saw Sirius raise his wand and jab it forward in an arc, even as an enormous column of icy water shot out like a humongous slinky — and slammed into the Death Eaters, freezing before it had even finished landing on them.

The resulting impact made countless birds — and a bunch of Death Eaters — fly into the air, but there was one figure in black coming in from the right, who cast a strike spell that sent Sirius flying into the foggy lake with a splash.

" _No_!" Nina cried out. They all stared at the water, hardly daring to breathe as the wizard cast another spell that blasted _into_ the water, making it explode upwards right where Sirius had fallen in.

James could hear his heartbeat drumming in his ears for what felt like an eternity but was closer to three seconds in reality.

Sirius didn't come back out.

"Why isn't he—" he started dumbly, but Dumbledore shoved him aside and cast a retrieval spell at the water. All that came up though, was a handful of writhing fish, flailing Grindylows, and what looked like a ton of algae, but no Sirius.

Deep cold gripped him suddenly — he felt like he was drowning, panicking as something dragged him away — James' hands went to his throat for a few agonising moments, gasping raggedly for air before Sirius' end abruptly cut off.

James knew what that meant, and he scrambled to his feet.

"James, are you all right?" Peter was helping him stand, and he shook his head. There wasn't any time, though— his feet carried him across Dumbledore's office before he had even fully realised what just had happened.

" _C'mon_!" He was already at the door, but he didn't stop to wait for his friends; no matter what, they couldn't help Sirius from the tower.

They took every passage and shortcut they could think of, but it still felt like it took forever to burst out the doors and onto the grounds.

It wasn't until they were racing to the shore that James noticed that others had joined them; half the school seemed to be spilling outside, despite the loud protests of some of the professors. Others, like McGonagall, were rushing out with the rest of them.

"Can you see him?" Dumbledore shouted, his eyes scanning the misty waterfront. James shook his head, as did dozens of others. Every eye was roving on the lake as far as they could see.

"I see him!" A voice cried from overhead. James' head snapped up so fast he cricked his neck.

A handful of First Years were hovering on school brooms with Madam Hooch, and they were pointing towards the centre of the Lake.

"He's right _there_ , on the Squid!"

James felt relief wash over him as he refocused his sight, scanning the surface — and _there_ , barely visible past the fog on the water, was the Giant Squid. And it was holding something — some _one_ — in its tentacles as it glided towards the shore.

James ran faster, ignoring the Headmaster's warning voice — stray spells were whizzing across the lake; the Aurors were trying to round up the Death Eaters, who were fighting back and trying to escape, but he didn't care.

He dodged a green beam, a silver beam, and a few others without noticing at all, and only became aware of what he was doing when he was wading waist-deep in the water and it felt as though his bits were about to fall off.

Soon he reached the Squid, who hauled him up onto its head next to Sirius with one of its free tentacles.

With the others, it was squeezing what looked like a bucketful of water out of Sirius' mouth. Sirius was blue in the face, there were bits of ice clinging to his hair, and when James checked him over hurriedly, he wasn't breathing. However, it was hardly the first time it had happened; it had been a common occurrence not so long ago, and James knew what to do about _that_.

" _Spiritus_!" he yelled, giving him a hard smack on the chest.

The effect was instantaneous: Sirius' eyes flew open even as he gave an almighty gasp and sat up in the same movement.

 _JAMES! HELP!_ surged into James' mind, and now _he_ nearly toppled off the Squid at the sheer volume of it.

"Done," James informed Sirius with a relieved grin. His best friend was swaying on the spot, staring blankly at him and alternately heaving for breath and coughing out water. As yet, he was more stunned at this new development than anything, and James could feel his confusion as he realised he was sitting in the middle of the Lake, which wasn't where he remembered being last.

"Tell me you didn't kiss me," Sirius wheezed out through chattering teeth, crossing his eyes to focus on the wand the Squid was helpfully dangling in front of his face. Sirius made a grab for it, missed pitifully, and gave up, adding to the Squid, "or _you_."

The Squid made an unmistakable kissing noise, dangling the wand out of Sirius' reach.

James couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing, plucking the wand from the tentacle and pulling Sirius into his arms before he fell into the water again.

A moment later, Sirius joined in helplessly, the much-missed barking laugh echoing across the water.

.

* * *

.

By the time the Squid started gliding towards land again, Sirius was starting to fail finding the situation as funny as before. He was freezing, for one, and every bit of him felt like a pincushion; his arms and legs were so numb, he wouldn't be surprised if they had fallen off… along with some key parts of his anatomy he usually felt very protective of.

James was gripping him and keeping him from toppling off the Squid, shivering about as badly as he was himself, but he ignored all of that, focusing on one thing he felt now, he'd under-appreciated for ever: even though it made his throat and chest burn, he gulped in huge lungfuls of air, as if he couldn't get enough — because he _couldn't_.

His lungs didn't seem to want fill, much less cooperate, and he found himself coughing and shaking with every other breath, and trying to get his spasming system under control in between. His right arm was throbbing sharply, and he didn't think the it was Squid who was making the world tilt like that.

"Can you stand?" James asked him. Sirius gave him a blank, mildly curious look, but then he noticed that they'd made it to the shore, where at least a hundred people were approaching, entirely too fast for him to properly follow.

_Where'd they come from?_

Sirius couldn't tell. To him it was as though they'd just popped up out of nowhere.

" _Oy_." Fingers snapped in front of his nose, forcing him to refocus on James. " _Can_ you stand, Pads?"

Sirius wasn't sure if he could, so he shrugged out his answer. James decided he just might and helped him slide off the Squid, who gave him a pat over the head with a tentacle in parting and made another kissing noise. Sirius snorted despite himself, thanking the enormous kraken with a pat on its head.

The next few moments were a blur of sounds that blended together, people crowding around him and James — he caught a glimpse of Remus, helping him to his feet when his knees gave way — there were Dumbledore's twinkling eyes, a sea of faces closing in… and then, he found himself staggering forward to flop down on the grass, where someone he felt he hadn't seen for an eternity threw a blanket over his shoulders, and followed up with a very welcome warming charm.

Tunnel vision was a very good thing to have, just now; he could focus only on Nina and ignore everyone else that much easier.

"I thought I said _no_ grand entrances, and to arrive in one piece," she told him mock-sternly, but her eyes were rimmed with red and she looked rather wretched.

Sirius grinned wanly at her, still wheezing with every hitched, laboured breath.

"Oops. I thought it was… y'know, the other way round." He slumped against her as she wrapped her arms around him. She felt burning hot.

This, he decided, was actually nice.

"I think I _did_ lose a few bits back there, though," he informed her a moment later, making her give a startled laugh. The PISS seemed to have stayed behind in the lake. Good; the Merfolk could keep it for all he cared.

"You smell like rotting shrimp," she informed him in return, and while he busied himself with leaning against her and shivering like nobody's business, she surreptitiously checked him over. "It _is_ a thing, then."

"Just a coincidence," he assured her, noticing that she was frowning at what she saw. Sirius didn't know why; as he saw it, he'd done ever so much _better_ than every other time before. He didn't even _feel_ close to death this time.

"Welcome back, Sirius," the Headmaster interrupted, beaming at him. "I believe it's best if we go inside. Can you walk?"

Sirius opened his mouth to answer in the negative — his first misgivings had not been unfounded — but instead, he froze all over again, staring at the group of wizards closing in behind the Hogwarts Head.

Bartemius Crouch was stomping towards him, flanked by a dozen red-robed, stone-faced Aurors, who surrounded him at once, pushing everyone back and cutting him off from Dumbledore and, worse yet, his friends. It felt eerily similar to when the Death Eaters had first trapped him in his bedroom, and Sirius' eyes wandered to look into Nina's in alarm.

"Don't forget to breathe," she told him, slipping her hand into his comfortingly and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

It worked; he even managed to remember that Dumbledore had said they'd come, and that he wouldn't let them take him to Azkaban, right?

_Right?_

Sirius' wildly-hammering heart decided to hold off on the drumroll and everything, until it was warranted.

It didn't last.

"Get out of the way, girl!" Crouch bellowed, pushing Nina aside and towering over him, while one of the Aurors immediately pulled her away and to where the others were.

"What's your _problem_?" Sirius shot at Crouch, his eyes flashing out a challenge. He wasn't dim, he _was_ afraid of Crouch and he had every reason to be, but Minister of Law Enforcement or no, the git had no right to push Nina around like that, and the anger Sirius felt trumped his own dread. "Leave her alone!"

"I'm okay," Nina assured him, but it did nothing to make Sirius less angry.

"She," said Crouch, glaring at him, "is the least of your problems. I'd be more worried about yourself." He beckoned with his hand, and the Aurors stepped forward, their wands suddenly inches from Sirius' face. "Surrender your wand. You're under arrest."

"I don't have my wand," Sirius answered irritably. "And I don't see why I should surrender to _you_."

"It's over, Black," Crouch spat. "You're coming with us, _now_." The wands trained on him were fairly crackling with magic. Sirius' heart decided to start skipping beats left and right, while his brain wondered if he could get away with hexing the supremely annoying wizard before he was dragged off. Then at least he'd have earned Azkaban and something told him, he wouldn't even regret it.

"Seize him," ordered Crouch, grinning coldly.

One of the Aurors stepped forward and hauled Sirius to his feet. Sirius couldn't bite back a yelp as his leg flared up in tandem with his arm.

"Sirius Black, you're under arrest for the cold-blooded murder of one Muggle, exposing magic to Muggles, and the wilful destruction of public and private property—"

"HOLD IT RIGHT THERE, CROUCH!"

Moody bellowed, silencing everyone out on the grounds. "And you lot, put your wands down before I arrest all of you," he barked, making the Aurors jump and lose their threatening facade.

"On what grounds?" Crouch shot back.

"Manhandling, disrupting classes, what the hell do I know," Moody growled, hobbling past him and yanking Sirius away from the shocked Auror, who'd been holding his arm in a vice-like grip. Sirius could only grunt his protests, but it didn't get him far.

" _OY_!" James was outraged. "Let go of him!"

"Here's your wand, Black," Moody grinned at him, and Sirius found himself in possession of familiar wood once more. It started sliding from his grip out of its own accord at once.

"What the hell are you doing, Alastor?! This boy is a criminal!" Crouch was beside himself with fury. He was also yanking Sirius towards him by his other arm, which hurt like a mother. Sirius swallowed back a cry. "You saw him with the Death Eaters—"

"I said — _let go of him_!" James insisted, but there were Aurors on the way. Irritable, threatening Aurors.

"Kicking their arses? Aye, I did."Moody yanked Sirius back towards him, and thankfully, Crouch let go of his arm before he kept it as a memento.

"He's nothing but a filthy murderer! He should be in Azkaban!"

"C'mon," James muttered, suddenly next to Sirius, prying him from Moody and taking a step back. Sirius turned around to follow, or at least stumble in his direction, but got pulled left by Crouch again, who had him by his coat now.

"Maybe _you_ belong there, but he doesn't," Moody snapped, closing in on the taller wizard and making Crouch shrink away from him. Too bad he was yanking Sirius around as he did so. "I know for a fact that he was _fighting_ the Death Eaters just now, _not_ aiding them as you'd so desperately want to believe."

"Oh, _really_?" Crouch's tone dripped with sarcasm and disdain. "And why should I believe you?"

They were nose to nose now, Sirius tried to wrench himself free, but it was hard to manage one-handed.

"Because," said Moody, "I've got witnesses— around oh, three hundred of them, give or take a dozen." He gestured around at the students, who started shaking out of their stunned sort of stupor.

Sirius heard an increasing number of voices butt into the conversation.

"Yeah, I saw him—"

"—sent them flying —"

"The Bark Mark —"

"He was duelling them, I _saw_ —"

"We'll see about _that_ ," said Crouch, his face blotchy red in his fury. "He can await trial in Azkaban in the meantime." Never mind trying to wrench free— in a flash of light and white-hot pain, Sirius was suddenly in shackles, on his knees. It was all he could do not to black out right then and there; the things were impossibly tight and so heavy, he couldn't move. Every time he shivered, they seemed to tighten further… or maybe it was just that both he and his body had had enough of this crap. Or maybe, he was just terrified of what would come next.

It was all of the above, he decided, realising he'd been had — Dumbledore was standing there, not six feet away, and yet he hadn't done anything to help.

" _Stop_ , Bartemius." Dumbledore's voice reached his ears, as if to contradict him. It was as icy cold as the Hogwarts Lake. "He's a minor, and therefore you cannot do this; as per Wizengamot law, I, as Supreme Mugwump, personally vouch for this boy— who shall remain at Hogwarts until such time as a fair hearing can be arranged."

Forget the blotches — Crouch was now beet-red.

" _FINE_! Have it your way, but don't think this is over!" He rapped his wand on the shackles, and they vanished.

"We don't," said Dumbledore placidly.

"Davies, Proudfoot, Edgecombe, Willis and Gideon— you stay here and guard this one round the clock," Crouch snapped, shoving Sirius, who was trying to get to his feet, backwards. Crouch turned to the Headmaster next. "I'll be back for him later — don't forget, you're _fully_ responsible if this menace to society vanishes again!" He whipped his wand up and down, as if to make a point, his watery blue eyes boring into Sirius' with a sort of loathing that made his spine prickle in warning. He was suddenly sandwiched between two Aurors who looked at least forty stone each and who hauled him back up without the slightest effort.

Sirius just wished they'd make up their minds and stop yanking him around like a rag doll. Every movement he was made to do hurt like hell, and he was rather wishing he'd black out by now.

"Enjoy your respite, _filth_ ," Crouch spat. "By this time tomorrow, you'll wish you'd never been born."

For once, Sirius didn't have a single scathing remark to that; he was busy just trying to follow what had happened, and hadn't everyone told him that everything would be all right once he was at Hogwarts?

He'd counted on it, but it appeared they'd all been _wrong_.

"I believe you have a few Death Eaters to take to Azkaban," said Moody at a growl, waving Crouch away. "Since you're so keen on arresting someone. Do listen to what they have to say."

Crouch stalked off, furiously, amid the loud cheering of the students.

"Drop that act," Moody barked at the two Aurors next. They obeyed instantly, which was both good and bad; the death grip on his arms vanished, but now there was nobody to hold him up.

Sirius' wand dropped from numb fingers the next moment, and he followed its path to the ground not a second later.

.

* * *

.

"Mr. and Mrs. Fleamont Potter?" The official sounding voice belonged to an official-looking wizard who strode into the Leaky Cauldron with entirely too much purpose, stopping at their side. All the patrons went silent, watching the developments at the booth where they were having lunch, as planned. Betty hadn't had an appetite all day, and she had been watching the fireplaces, hoping that Angus or Alastor would arrive to tell them that Sirius had been found, as planned.

This, however, was unexpected, and it put her on edge.

"Yes?" Coop asked, getting to his feet as she and Janus exchanged a glance. "What is it?"

"My name is Ronan Retama," the wizard introduced himself, in the same pompous tone. "I am serving as a liaison for the Department of Magical Catastrophes and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Are you the adoptive parents of one Sirius Orion Soren Pendragon Black?"

Betty's stomach clenched and twisted in sudden apprehension, and she found herself bracing for the worst. All their plans hadn't included _this_ , whatever _this_ was.

"Yes," answered Coop, his voice as strangled as she felt.

"Mr. And Mrs. Potter… I have come here to inform you that Sirius Black has just been found."

" _What_?" Betty asked, not sure that she had heard right; her shock was genuine, and her mind was racing — what did this mean? Had the Ministry found him before he made it to the school? "Where? Is he —?" Betty cut herself off, not wanting to finish the question.

" _Alive_?" Coop finished for her. While this had been a part of their rehearsal before, now it was at the forefront of their concerns; besides, it was Alastor or Angus who were supposed to bring the news to them, if things had gone according to plan. Which they clearly _hadn't_.

"Yes, he is alive," Mr. Ronan Retama answered, with the tiniest hint of a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. All around the Leaky Cauldron, people started muttering to each other, in surprise and shock. "He is being held at Hogwarts, where he was captured earlier today."

"What do you mean, _captured_?"

"He seems to have been involved in a large-scale Death Eater attack on the school," was the answer, which elicited more mutters around them. Betty felt a lump in her throat, and her hands flew to cover her mouth, while the onlookers gasped and started speaking ever louder amongst themselves. "Albus Dumbledore and the Minister for Mysteries are presently guarding him, supervising his imprisonment in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing," was the relieving answer. "Five Aurors have been stationed at the school, to ensure the safety of the students."

"You're treating him like a _criminal_?"

"Only as a precaution, I'm sure," said Ronan loftily. It was clear that he didn't care at all. "At any rate, he shall be transferred to Azkaban prison tomorrow, pending trial, and I must ask you to accompany me to proceed with the corresponding paperwork."

"You're sending him to _Azkaban_?" Betty had heard it could be a possibility, but she hadn't really believed that Barty would go through with it.

"That may be the case," answered Retama.

"But he's a _child_!" snapped Betty, outraged and not a little apprehensive. What if Albus _couldn't_ keep Sirius safe? What if Barty got his way?

"He is also wanted for murder," was the cool reply. "In any case, it would be advisable for you to go to the school and meet with representatives of those Departments involved, as you are his legal guardians."

"Right you are," Betty huffed. "I want to see my boy."

"I am sure," replied Retama, "however, be prepared not to. Bear in mind that what he's accused of, is no small matter, and Ministry policy regarding captured Death Eaters—"

"He's not a Death Eater!" snapped Coop and Betty in unison.

"— is nothing if not clear. Follow me, please."

.

* * *

.

A deafening cheer erupted among the students gathered on the grounds as Crouch and his troupe of Aurors stalked off, and never mind that a shivering James was all but scraping Sirius from the ground; it was followed by a stampede.

Remus instinctively stepped in front of Sirius, to stop some of the more enthusiastic students, even as Dumbledore held out his arms to stop them from flocking towards them.

"Everyone, _calm down_ ," he said loudly. "It is time for you to return to classes —"

There was an uproar, and a many-voiced protest, and Remus' sharp ears caught much more than disgruntled mutters at this announcement. Nobody wanted to go back to class, and everyone out here it seemed, wanted to personally make sure that it was indeed Sirius, that he was alive, and he spotted a few girls already arguing over who of them he liked best.

"There is nothing more to see here," Dumbledore repeated firmly. "I'm sure that you will be able to see him during visiting hours — which you'll have to settle with the nurse later. Professors, kindly take your students inside now."

"They're going to steamroller you, mate," James told Sirius, helping him up.

Sirius let out a groan.

"Let's get you to Poops," James said, but caught the Headmaster's eye and revised. "I mean, Madam Pomfrey, our beloved nurse." The Headmaster chuckled, shaking his head.

"I will notify your parents, boys. I am certain they will be relieved to hear you are back."

"Your M-mum will be so p-p-pissed," Sirius said to James, who was getting wrapped in a blanket, his voice shaking from a sort of cold that seemed to come from deep within. He was shutting down, and his voice sounded rather nasal when he spoke. Remus took pity on him and conjured a stretcher that scooped him up and floated him indoors.

"Why do you reckon, Pumpkin?" James asked casually as they made their way to the Hospital Wing, unhindered by students and flanked by grim-faced Aurors.

Sirius only responded by chattering his teeth, but Remus couldn't miss how both of them had their wands out, and James' light tone didn't carry over to his eyes. He seemed ready to blast anyone approaching with less than friendly intent to bits. Sirius seemed ready to pass out.

They made their way to the Hospital Wing, followed by scores of students, who were all trying to sneak a peek at Sirius, or speak to him, or grab at him.

Pomfrey, though, did not jump on the bandwagon the entire school seemed to be riding. She wasn't impressed by Sirius' state upon arrival — she was also probably one of the few females alive that didn't instantly succumb to his charm — and she sent James to take a hot bath before he caught cold, while she looked after Sirius.

Remus decided to stay and wait, along with Peter, and Nina… and the Quidditch Teams of all Houses minus Slytherin, and the Prewetts, the McKinnons, and Amelia — which made Peter — and about half the school — very happy. Because, for once, Amelia wasn't kicking anyone out. Neither was Lily, or Frank, and Remus wouldn't dream of it. If everyone wanted to stay here and wait, he wouldn't stop them. Should those Aurors standing on either side of Sirius' curtains so much as _try_ to take him away — which was a distinct possibility still — at least they could be witnesses to the deed. At best, they could actually stop them.

Nobody spoke.

It was eerie; Remus didn't believe that he'd ever seen so many kids standing so quietly. There was no fidgeting, no whispered conversations, no shifting about; everyone was straining to catch the slightest sound from the curtained-off area behind which the nurse had disappeared. They could even hear what was going on quite clearly; the nurse was asking him the customary stuff, which Sirius was trying to answer the best he could amidst wheezes and the chattering of his teeth.

"Okay, hold still now—" There was a _snap_ , a sharp intake of breath, then, "Better?"

"Loads, thanks," said Sirius' voice. An excited sort of murmur rose among the students, but it died down the next instant, as the nurse's voice was heard again, too low to be intelligible.

They listened on, but though they could hear the nurse working and humming to herself, and the clinking of vials and casting of spells, Sirius didn't speak up again. Slowly, the murmur rose once more, as people started wondering if he was awake at all, and if anyone had seen what all was wrong with him. Remus sensed another school-wide wager or three looming; the 236 Galleons he'd hidden under his bed might get tripled at this rate.

"Move aside," he heard James' father tell a group blocking the doors. Remus helped the Potters pass through and into the Wing, ashen-faced and worried. A second later, Sirius' curtain was yanked back, to reveal what the nurse was working on.

Remus had a fair idea of what all he'd gotten landed with this time, but there simply wasn't anything to see. Sirius must've hurt his leg again because it was all propped up and things, but other than a mop of black hair, there was nothing at all to make out under the white covers.

"I've put him to sleep," said Pomfrey, but she allowed the Potters to step into the cubicle, striding towards the students who were still silently waiting for news. "That means, go to lunch, you lot. You may visit later, let him get some rest."

A collective groan met her words.

"But Madam Pomfrey—" Marlene protested, and everyone erupted along with her.

"Will he be all right?"

"Why can't we see him?"

"Will they take him to prison?"

"Of course not, don't be stupid!"

"But Crouch said—"

"Yeah, but Crouch can go stick his—"

"Prewett, don't be so crude."

"I'm just saying, we all heard what Moody said, and in essence, he said that Crouch can go stuff—"

"That goes for you too, Prewett!"

"You're no fun, Evans. Aren't you even slightly glad Black is back?"

"Will he be okay to play Quidditch again?"

"Go on, Madam Pomfrey, just one minute—"

"Or three, just so we can say hello."

"We can help look after him," a voice chirped up, and everyone paused, turning to stare at a blushing Evelyn Wallis (Hufflepuff Third Year), before the female portion of the group exploded in offers of help, pressing forward in their eagerness.

"Oy, knock it off," said Frank, but the effect of it was lost as he was biting back a laugh.

"Keep it down," snapped the nurse, and for once, it worked. "He'll be all right soon, and there's nothing to worry about—"

"Can he play against Ravenclaw next month?" Caradoc asked, making everyone laugh. Even the nurse let out a disbelieving sort of chuckle.

"I'm glad you've got your priorities in order," James said mockingly, joining them fresh out of the shower. It didn't appear to have helped; he sounded stuffy. Caradoc grinned, as James turned to the nurse as well. "Well, can he play again when he's better? Because that would be—"

"Brilliant!" someone said from the back.

"We'd kick Ravenclaw's ar—"

" _Prewett_!"

"We'd totally bugg—"

" _Language_ , Fenwick!"

"You're just sore you'll lose, Amelia!"

"I'm taking points, I _mean_ it!"

"Everyone shut up!" James ordered, but he was laughing. "Let her answer, _can_ he play by next month, Madam Pomfrey?"

"If he heals properly, then yes," she answered, smiling as the Gryffindors cheered loudly. "And I'm sure he'll appreciate your concern for his _well-being_ —" there were more laughs and giggles, "— but right now, he's still not ready to handle all of you, much less all at once like that. Get something to eat, and later this evening he may be well enough for a few visitors. Sort yourselves out and come back later, in groups no larger than five."

.

* * *

.

Antonin hesitated outside the doors to what they called the Throne Room, the Dark Lord's favourite… lounge, would be a proper term. The ballroom of the old Riddle Manor was lavishly furnished without seeming kitschy, large enough to comfortably accommodate over three hundred guests without anyone stepping on each other's toes, and a host of House Elves (and some Mudblood slaves) catered to everyone's needs and whims.

Lording over it all, on what could never be mistaken for anything other than a throne, on a raised dais, sat the Dark Lord, dressed in silken robes of dark green, the silver thread embroidered on the hem and sleeves moving like live snakes.

Antonin inwardly cursed. The Dark Lord already seemed annoyed.

Which could easily translate in raging like a rabid bull; the Dark Lord's patience had never been anything to boast of, and it had been steadily wearing thin since last Yule. Now, a mere handful of hours after having told him of Sirius Black's latest escape, he had to bear the news of what, exactly, Orion's eldest had done upon giving them all the slip.

"Come here, old friend," the Dark Lord beckoned languidly. "Tell me, how does our venture progress?"

Dolohov obeyed; how could he not? However, he couldn't think of anything to say that would sound remotely good enough to distract Voldemort from their latest defeat.

He himself would never have believed he'd hear that word in connection to his own exploits, not since the War started in the winter of '71. Sure, they'd sometimes barely scraped by with a narrow victory back then, when they were freshly-formed and had no battle experience.

But the Death Eaters had remained largely undefeated, even when faced with hundreds of capable witches and wizards who trained for years to hunt them down, even when faced with Grindelwald war veterans.

And those dismal days had become a thing of the past by the Spring of '72.

It had been annoying and downright vexing when the Black kid escaped the first time, and he had become something of a white stag for them since; except for Bellatrix, who would gladly die trying to bring him in, by now none expected they would ever catch Sirius Black, and Dolohov himself had been stunned and shocked when what he'd believed to be an ambush by the Aurors, turned out to be that thrice-damned schoolboy.

_On his own!_

It was insulting.

The Dark Lord himself had been intrigued and surprised at how the kid's bag of tricks didn't seem to run out, but he too, seemed more keen on killing the kid than keeping him alive, lately.

Well, thought Antonin, accepting a glass of aged red from a faceless Mudblood slave, if Voldemort was still weighing the benefits of offing Black versus capturing him alive and trying to turn him, or absorb his power, or whatever he was planning — which they all doubted would ever happen by now — then the Dark Lord would see that it was the only course of action left for them all. Now, the bloody brat had definitely overstepped his bounds.

"Was it those Aurors?" Voldemort's question went straight to the point; he had never been easily fooled, and he guessed rightly that the Hogwarts raid had fallen through before it even started. "Or did that old fool have yet _another_ trick up his sleeve?"

Antonin took a swig from his glass, setting it down on a nearby table with a sigh.

"The Aurors arrived much later, and it was not because of Dumbledore, either. He probably alerted the Aurors, but he did not participate."

"Then _what_?" Red eyes flashed with suppressed anger, and Antonin inwardly braced for the reaction his words would elicit. He shrugged.

"We were ambushed, Lord Voldemort."

"Who was it then, the Order?" Antonin wished it had been. It would have been less embarrassing than the truth.

"It was Sirius Black, Lord."

"With… the Order?"

"Alone."

.

* * *

.

Thankfully, the nurse had not made the Marauders return to class.

Nina had to go, however, but she kept the Mirror in her pocket and left with the promise that they'd call her between classes to keep her updated.

The Potters waited until everyone else had left — except for the Aurors, but they were sent to the other end of the wing by James' uncharacteristically snappish Dad, who glared them down in such a way that they actually _offered_ to give them some privacy.

It had the added effect of subduing the Marauders, who approached the curtained area with apprehension.

Sirius was asleep, and when James looked in on him, sniffling and trying to ignore the pounding of his brain against his skull, he managed to establish that he didn't look much worse off than after some of their more violent duelling lessons. In fact, his parents informed, he'd been pumped full of a sleeping draught, to let the nurse work better.

From what his Mum told them, Poops didn't find anything life-threatening; his broken arm would be fixed by morning, and aside from some wounds he'd managed to tear open again, the only thing Poops was really worried about was his gammy leg, which he'd gone and messed up _again_ and which was stuck in a magical cast once more.

Compared to the last couple of times he'd seen him after a — battle? Duel? Torture gone horribly wrong? — and not to mention that Sirius had gone _after_ the Death Munchers this time, James believed this was positively mild.

Not that he dared point that out — his Mum would scold him for being unfeeling or the sort, and he didn't want to antagonise her. She had always worried and smothered him when he got something as unimportant as a scratch, so he figured that to her, it wasn't so much the gravity of the injuries what upset her; it was the fact that Sirius had been hurt again at all.

However, it was relieving that this time he'd come out of it all relatively unscathed, and James for one, couldn't wait to hear the full story.

The three Marauders told his parents what they knew of what had happened, and then his Dad told them his side of the story, up until the point where Sirius left him on a hill and vanished, and then related how he and Alastor had gone looking for Sirius everywhere, just about. They speculated for a bit, but what had really happened from the time when Sirius disappeared until he arrived earlier, was anyone's guess, and for once, James wasn't in the mood for guessing or storytelling. His head felt rather heavy, and his throat felt closed over and raw whenever he spoke.

Remus was retelling the bit where they'd all raced the Squid to the shore, and James noticed that this version contained several elements that he didn't remember at all.

"The Aurors were on the far shore," Moony was saying to his enthralled audience. Even the Aurors were all ears, way over there. "And the Death Eaters were all trying to get up and get away, but they couldn't for some reason. I mean, we watched some of them in the woods from Dumbledore's office, and they apparated away when they were losing, but these didn't. Not sure why."

"Sirius did dump half the lake on them," James pointed out reasonably, loud enough for the Aurors to hear. "Maybe they were just out of it."

"We were a bit more preoccupied with where Sirius was," Pete chimed in, already stuffing chocolate in his mouth. Some of the students had managed to leave candy and hastily-scribbled get-well notes, and if what happened when James himself had gotten hurt was any indication, there would be no shortage of snacks in the Hospital Wing for a while to come.

"Yeah, I thought he was a goner," James croaked out, and his Mum wrapped an arm around him, kissing the top of his head. James suppressed a shudder. She felt cold, and he felt rather clammy.

"We ran out, but it looked like everyone thought of doing the same," Remus added. "It took forever to get there, and I kept thinking, he might have had the time to cast a Bubblehead Charm or something, because he wasn't coming back out. Turns out, the Squid got him."

"The Giant Squid?" asked his Dad, and the Marauders nodded. "Isn't it feral?"

"It's never been aggressive to us," Peter shrugged. "Or maybe it just likes us because we feed it chocolate."

James smiled; it had taken forever to figure out what the Squid could be bribed with, but he and Sirius always made a point of giving it snacks, and it had fished them out of the water more than once.

"Some of the Firsties were taking their flying lesson and spotted him," Remus went on. "And James all but plunged into the lake, spells whizzing past left, right, and centre."

"It wasn't that bad," James argued half-heartedly. "I just saw a couple of spells, tops."

Peter and Remus laughed, shaking their heads.

"Your guardian angel must be like, the size of a Zeppelin," Pete decided, mouth full of candy. James rubbed his stinging eyes, shrugging.

Apparently, he'd narrowly avoided being stunned, imperio'd, crucio'd, blasted and chopped to bite-sized pieces. While he listened to Remus' account of him swimming — when did he _swim_? — to the middle of the Lake and then saving Sirius' life, which he couldn't deny sounded _loads_ better than how he remembered it, James rummaged around in his book bag and extracted a quill, doodling on Sirius' cast for a while.

"He wasn't breathing?" his parents were aghast.

James shook his head.

"The Squid was doing the resuscitation thing we saw that lifeguard do on the beach last Summer," he answered, "I just helped him along, with that spell we used before. He woke right up, though."

"Did you tell Poppy?" his Mum wanted to know.

James nodded.

"Yeah, but really, he was okay after. Kind of like when it's happened before."

Remus took over telling more of the story, relaying the exchange between Moody and Crouch almost verbatim, and making everyone laugh, which was good because James saw that his Mum was thinking of telling him off. Thankfully, Remus had always been brilliant at imitating people, and the Potters were in stitches before long. Even the Aurors were biting back amused laughs.

James only half-listened; his eyes were stinging, watering out of their own accord, and he only realised he felt achy and chilly when his Mum's hand landed on his forehead, checking his temperature. He looked up from a pretty decent rendition of the Giant Squid chasing a black dog and trying to give it a kiss (complete with huge red lips that smacked every so often), wondering what he'd missed now.

"Honey, you're a bit too warm," she told him, when he looked up at her questioningly. "Are you feeling well?"

"Just a little tired," he answered. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

"I think it's a bit more than that," she said, covering him with a cloak.

"Yeah, Prongs, you look under the weather there," Peter said. "If it's to get out of going to class, it's pretty convincing."

As if on cue, Sirius rolled over and coughed in his sleep. There was a flash of light near the doors, and one of the Aurors yelped, making them all whip around, to see a set of curtains had caught fire.

"Did he just —?" Pete asked.

"I think so…" his Dad was frowning, then turned to look at his Mum.

" _Brilliant_ ," said James, grinning.

"Oh, dear," said James' Mum, as his Dad cast a spell to put the fire out. "Stay put, darling. I'll get Poppy." She hurried off, to the backdrop of Remus' and Pete's guffaws.

.

* * *

.

"Morning," Sirius mumbled thickly upon waking. Sitting on another bed to his left, James grinned, opening a chocolate frog.

"Afty," he corrected, mouth full.

"What did I miss this time?" asked Sirius, looking himself over and taking an inward inventory of the apothecary he was now wearing. He was wondering if it would be safe to sit up, and when he spoke, he sounded stuffy and looked rather bleary. "And what happened to you?"

"I'm paying the price of brotherhood and boundless friendship," said James lazily, grinning at his friend, steam coming out of his ears. "As I so selflessly saved your life in an act of unprecedented heroism."

Sirius coughed, watching James come in and out of focus.

"Wha?" he asked.

"You've no sense of the poetic," James established, rubbing his eyes. They were still stinging, and he hoped he wouldn't get another sneezing bout; the Hospital Wing wasn't fireproof. He'd borne witness to that.

"'Choo mean, poetic?" Sirius asked, confused.

James sighed theatrically.

"Okay, my blunt-brained friend," he said. "I'll spell it out for you. When I went into the Lake earlier and saved your life, I caught cold. Wyvern flu, according to the experts."

"Ah. Couldn't you have said it from the start?" Sirius coughed again, and James found himself being bucked off his bed and pelted with candy.

"Oy!" James exclaimed. Now his bum was aching something wonderful.

"Oops."

"Yeah," James sighed, letting out a puff of steam. Sirius watched him, grinning. "I think I caught it from you," he pointed out, scrambling up from the cold floor. "You're like, oozing germs and stuff."

"Is that why those Aurors are all the way over there?" Sirius asked.

"Nah, they're so scared of Crouch they wouldn't dare leave your side."

"Then why…?"

"Turns out, they're more scared of my Dad."

"Your parents were here?"

"They went to yell at your Mum," James informed. "About half an hour ago."

"Shite."

"Yeah, she came in all… well, you know her better than me, she wanted to take you home and started screaming for you to get up and come with her."

Sirius cringed at that, but there wasn't real emotion — or recollection — behind it.

"How did they get her to leave?" he wanted to know next. James saw with satisfaction that there wasn't any embarrassment there, either; only curiosity.

"Actually, _you_ did that."

" _Wha_?" James relished Sirius' nonplussed gaze for all of three heartbeats before answering.

"You sort of rolled over in your sleep, and coughed, or sneezed or _something_ , and I swear it was like a hand yanked her out of the Wing and slammed the door in her face."

Sirius blinked, stunned, and James obligingly replayed the scene in his mind's eye for his benefit. Sirius let out a laugh, that old, earnest and loud bark of a guffaw James had missed most of all.

"Yeah, Mum and Dad kindly reminded her that they were your parents now, and basically told her to suck it. They used more words than that, of course."

"I'm sure she loved that."

"Oh yeah, she _loved_ it so much that Dumbledore had to come down and invite her to his office to listen to all her adoring comments on the matter, over tea and crumpets. Mum and Dad went with her to share the happy news in depth."

Sirius chuckled, but he was wishing he'd been awake for it, James could tell. Then, of course, it turned into a very chesty coughing fit.

As he was floating above the Hospital curtains along with about half the beds and candy and things, James decided it was all a-okay.

Padfoot was back, and that meant bedlam, of the best kind.

Despite feeling quite ill himself, James didn't mind it at all, retaliating with a sneeze of his own that had Sirius shooting up into the air and grabbing on to one of the rafters, even as the school nurse came galumphing in and she and the Aurors tried to restore order in the Wing.

"Bless you," Sirius croaked from the beam he had somehow managed to perch on, but he was grinning.

 _That's right, Hogwarts,_ James thought with satisfaction, blowing his nose on his umpteenth hanky. _We're back, so brace yourself_.

.

* * *

.

" _Silencio_."

As far as opening statements went, this one wasn't encouraging.

It was late, and after Poops and Proudfoot had gotten him down from the ceiling rafters, stuck him and James back in bed, and restored the Hospital Wing to its usual pristine state, James had fallen asleep, leaving Sirius to his increasingly dismal thoughts, which seemed to be leaking out his ears along with the ever-present cloud of steam issuing from them.

He'd sort of caught the gist of what had happened, but lighthearted as James' accounts were, his brother hadn't mentioned anything about his foremost worry.

And no, oddly, he _wasn't_ worried about his mother's retaliation, or the lord Thingy's revenge, not really.

At least he knew what to expect from _them_. He could prepare for those, in fact, he was expecting one later tonight at the earliest. There was no way the lord Thingy didn't already get a whiny report tattling on what he'd done to his beloved Chompers. He'd be apoplectic with rage, going the full mile and jumping up and down with the trademark Slytherin self-righteous fury.

What Sirius _was_ worried about, was that Dumbledore maybe wouldn't uphold his own offer of keeping him safely away from the Aurors; he had no idea what to expect from Crouch, not an inkling on what legal thingamagig he could produce and override the old Headmaster.

Because Dumbledore had promised that the Ministry wouldn't so much as bother him, and yet, Proudfoot and Edgecombe were still here, lounging on guest chairs and shooting stares at him he'd interpreted as being more hostile than friendly.

Or maybe that last had something to do with the flying bedpan incident; in his defence, Sirius couldn't help coughing and sneezing any more than he could help breathing, and his and James' magic was seeping out through their pores like sweat, causing havok all over the place. And this time, it _was_ unintentional.

Not that they didn't enjoy it.

The Aurors were gone now, though, sent to get their dinners by a very curt Mr. P, who'd made a beeline to his bed.

Sirius caught Mrs. P's drawn expression and looked down, his mind refocusing from his misgivings regarding his near future and concentrating on the recent past; he was certain that he'd put his foot deep in it this time, and how could he do what James had said? The bit about adding some sweet to the bitter or something like that, which had made perfect sense the other day, but now seemed harder than trying to transfigure the castle into a pink elephant.

This time, he had nothing sweet to offer, to counter the fact that he'd vanished from that hilltop and then gone _after_ the very people trying to kill him. If it hadn't been for the Squid and James, they'd have succeeded as well, he was nothing if not aware of that.

He'd gone against Mrs. P's direct wishes this time, done the very thing she'd asked him (countless times) not to do. He'd even ruined her careful bandaging and lost the leg brace thing about five minutes after she'd adjusted it. He couldn't even tell her that the sandwiches she'd sent had been good — there just hadn't been any time for eating, and he knew that, had he done things her way, he'd have arrived at Hogwarts on time.

And they'd be attacked by morning.

Somehow, he believed that, useful as what he'd done had been for others, she still didn't like it. He could also tell that "oops" and "sorry" just wouldn't cut it, and he could feel as miserable as he wanted, it wouldn't change a thing: He'd gone and betrayed her trust, and it was the last thing he'd wanted to do.

For that eternally long moment after Mr. P cast that Silencing Charm, the tiny Sirius living in his head raced to figure this new challenge out, to find words he could say to them that wouldn't be a lie, but would convey what he wanted to tell them without making her (or Mr. P) feel worse.

At least Mr. P understood the need to fight back; Mrs. P, though… Sirius was still very new to having actual parents who cared about every little thing that happened to him, but he was _sure_ she wouldn't like his new career choice as the Dark Side's official rock in the shoe.

How could he promise her he wouldn't do it again, when he knew that he _would_? When he'd decided he'd do it again and again, until either he copped it or the war did? How could he promise her that he'd be safe and all, when he knew that wasn't ever going to be the case?

The tiny Sirius in his head wasn't any help at all: all he was thinking of, was how much simpler things were before, when the witch he thought of as a mother didn't care if he lived or died. Now, though… he worried, but only _after_ he went and did what he'd always done.

Then again, he couldn't expect his brain to be helpful here; it was drowning in snot, so it was a little impaired. The little Sirius in his head wasn't running around so much as wading in a thick, boiling sort of green slime, so how could he come up with anything clever?

In the end, Sirius didn't have to say anything at all, not at first. Mrs. P pulled him into a hug that felt startlingly crushing and reassuring at the same time.

"I'm—" they started at the same time, and Mrs. P laughed softly, pushing his fringe back and making him shiver despite himself. She felt cold.

"I'm so happy you're awake, Pumpkin!"

Well.

That didn't sound like the prelude to a royal telling-off.

She drew him into another hug, rubbing his back and checking for any injuries there. Sirius was surprised. He'd expected her to nag, rag, yell at him at least, not _this_.

Or maybe the Potters just didn't know what all he'd gotten up to since this morning.

"I'm alright," he assured her, grateful that this at least, wasn't a lie. Even if it came out thickly and constipated. Even if he was, once again, bedridden. "I think I just caught cold."

"Wyvern flu is nothing to be taken lightly," said Mrs. P, her gentle tone quite the opposite of what he'd expected. "You're quite contagious at the moment."

"Can you catch it?" Sirius asked, worried. He had no idea what wyvern flu was, but it sounded ominous. Suddenly his priorities reshuffled themselves yet again.

"We took a potion," said Mr. P, patting his hand. "And everyone who was out there with you by the Lake earlier was given one too, so we hope you won't cause an epidemic."

"I can't expect that to be much fun," Sirius said, although privately he believed it would be hilarious if everyone in the castle caught it; just he and James had managed to turn the Hospital Wing upside down several times already, imagine what five hundred-odd students could do…

Mrs. P smiled at him. She still hadn't let go of him, and Sirius didn't want her to move away.

"Luckily Poppy has all the remedies ready, but do let her know if you feel poorly, Pumpkin," she told him, as they both got comfortable against each other.

"What happened back there?" Mr. P wanted to know next, sitting down on a guest chair while Mrs. P poured him some steaming tea with a flick of her wand.

Still worrying about the sweet and bitter sides of his tale, and finding one sorely lacking and an excess of the other, Sirius told them everything.

He didn't embellish the story or lie — although there was ample room for downplaying stuff — he told them what he'd seen, what he'd thought, what he'd done and why.

The Potters had always been good listeners, having demanded stories of his and James' adventures for years, but Sirius only now appreciated how easily it came to tell them… stuff.

Needless to say, none of the dreadful things he'd feared actually happened when he got to the end of his tale, which was a bit sketchy since he'd been trying to slam the Death Eaters with a spell one minute and had been drowning the next.

"… And then I woke up on the Giant Squid and James was there," he explained, shrugging one shoulder. "But it's all muddled after. I mean, I _know_ Crouch was there with a handful of Aurors and tried to take me to Azkaban, but I'm not too sure what happened for me to end up here instead." Which he was very relieved over, but he hadn't missed the red-robed wizards standing a few feet away. "James said it was all Moody and Dumbledore and after, even Angus yelling at Crouch, but he'd know best. I honestly stopped listening after Moody gave me my wand back," he finished his account, which he'd directed mostly at his bedspread.

Now though, the silence stretched and he couldn't keep avoiding looking at them. So he did.

"I'm sorry," he said, upon seeing their expressions. Anger, disappointment, that he'd expected, but _this_ … _this_ was different. They were looking at him almost with wistfulness, and he couldn't understand why.

"Whatever for?" Mr. P asked, confused, and now Sirius was too. He didn't _really_ want him to explain the whole thing over again, did he?

Well, if he had to tell them everything once more, or ten times over, he'd do it, until it sank in. This time, though, he'd take it slow.

"I sort of dumped you on that hilltop, Mr. P."

"Well, yes, and I thank you for it," was the reply.

_Er._

"But that was also the plan, if you recall."

"Right." Sirius bit his lip, sniffling a little. Maybe if he didn't feel like his head was swimming in superheated snot, he might've said something else, something more eloquent, maybe? "Well," he added, moving on to the next bit. "I didn't exactly follow the plan, I went back instead."

"And thanks to that, you found out they were waiting for you at York," Mrs. P pointed out.

"Well, yeah, but… I wasn't trying to get back here at once, and I could've. Or… I should've."

"I would've done the same thing you did," Mr. P told him gently.

"But, Mrs. P, I _told_ you—"

"That you'd look after Coop, which you did," said Mrs. P. "And that you'd get here today, which you did as well, and more. Alastor said that there were Death Eaters waiting around Hogsmeade, so if you'd followed the plan, you probably wouldn't have made it here at all. They knew where you'd be and when, and yet you managed to fool them all, and stopped them from doing so much worse."

"But—"

"I don't see why you should be apologising for anything, son." Mr. P's tone was amused now, confusing Sirius even further. Gods of Quidditch, _when_ would he figure out how their minds worked? Not today, apparently. "Plans go south, and you did far better than I'd hoped under the circumstances."

This was actually making him feel _better_. Less apprehensive at any rate. Not fully; he _was_ aware that there was still every possibility that the Aurors outside his curtains could — and, given the chance, likely _would_ — haul him to Azkaban, tail and all; the fact that he'd come so close already, that he was feeling little more mobile than a Flobberworm again, was making his trust in people wobble, and it was such a stressful feeling that Sirius just didn't want to explore the option at all.

But at least, there was a silver lining: the Potters weren't mad at him, they were _glad_ he'd done what he'd done, and that made a huge weight fall off his chest.

"We're so proud of you, Pumpkin," Mrs. P told him softly, making him smile. The warmth he felt now, had nothing at all to do with his fever. It was a fantastic feeling.

"Walburga isn't though," Mr. P added lightly, making Sirius look at him. "I fear that it finally sunk in that you're a Potter through and through now." He tsk'ed and grinned at Sirius, who felt even warmer and fuzzier. "But really, she doesn't make up her mind. First she doesn't want you, then she wants you _again_ , then she says that you're no longer hers, then she claims that you _are_ and tries to drag you off…" he gave a mock-suffering sigh, and Sirius couldn't help grinning all the wider.

"She's a very…" Sirius hunted for the word, " _complicated_ person," he said dryly, making the Potters laugh.

"She did throw a fit of epic proportions," Mrs. P pitched in. "I think she hadn't even realised what she did when she signed you over to us. I really thought she'd popped a vein."

"I should send her a get-well card," Sirius mumbled.

"It might land her in St. Mungo's."

"I somehow doubt they're equipped to deal with the Black Madness," Mr. P mused. He'd know, he was half a Black or something, after all. "Maybe it'll be for the best if you just forget about her."

"Forget about who?" asked Sirius innocently.

"That's my boy," said Mrs. P proudly, but whatever she meant to say next was lost in the fluttering of wings.

A huge barn owl Sirius recognised as having once belonged to his father had landed on the foot of his bed, and was hopping forward on one leg, holding a dark green envelope out for him to take. It was acting as it had, every time he'd received a letter from his family over the last five years — like it too, was angry at him.

"What's that?"

"My dear old mum's version of a get-well note," said Sirius, accepting the letter, which was smoking around the edges. Funny, how he didn't feel the dread that had gripped him every single time upon getting family mail. Opening the Howler was unavoidable, but it wasn't scary as it had once been. Sirius turned the smoking envelope around, looking at the Potters, who seemed apprehensive.

"You might want to cover your ears," he suggested, and opened the letter.

* * *

.

 **TBC**.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A great big heartfelt thanks for all the awesome reviews! I hope you liked this chapter. I was aiming for ending it when Sirius and James got back to Gryffindor Tower, but I hadn't counted with my brain making up wyvern flu, or the unending opportunities for comic relief that it brings. Therefore, other stuff will have to happen in the next installment.
> 
> Speaking of which…
> 
> Next up: Walburga wishes the warlock formerly known as her son all the best in true, vintage Black fashion, as does the rest of his (former) family, Voldemort gets a twitch and a visitor who brings a break in the clouds, the Marauders are finally together again, McGonagall prepares a certain class, there's a catfight, the Aurors decide to spend their time on other endeavours, and Sirius gets his subpoena (officially). Um, what else… oh yeah, and Caradoc gets his wish.
> 
> Read you soon!


	21. Double Double Legal Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Walburga loses her cool (…bwahaha), headlines are made, McGonagall prepares a certain class, Sirius gets his subpoena and a week off school (because Googles does looooove him), there's a haunting, only not because I couldn't fit it in, Voldemort has a weird idea of what a pen pal is, Regulus shows up, and if you want to know the rest, well, here it is, in all its glory (minus the glory bit). Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Eye of newt and toe of frog,  
> I don't want to engage in fraud.  
> Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,  
> I don't claim to own anything!
> 
> A/N (aka, DND's excuse nook of greetings, salutations and excusations): Sorry for making you wait — got caught up by work, moving to new house, internet troubles and CampNaNo, then got made Municipal Liaison for my NaNoWriMo region (yay!), then the quake hit in Mexico City while I was over there for a day trip (not cool) and I turned into shelter material in between coming out of EMT retirement and helping out the S&R efforts for a fortnight, and then moved againbecause my mum's flat got all destroyed and she took over my house thus leaving me homeless when I'd finally gotten net (!) I know, right? THEN there was NaNoWriMo and I managed to write half of book 5 of my 7-Book series so (double yay). Sort of not in that order.
> 
> But seriously, this time I claim acts of God and force majeure for not updating sooner. That said, I'm lucky to be alive at all, and sorry the chapter is so short.
> 
> Moving on to the much nicer reality of a fictional universe.
> 
> Oh, and I have adopted a new puppy. (Triple yay!)

**Part Twenty-One: Double Double Legal Trouble**

* * *

.

"YOU FILTHY BLOOD-TRAITOR, STAIN ON MY BLOODLINE! TEN THOUSAND CURSES ON THE DAY YOU WERE BORN! I SHOULD HAVE  _KNOWN_  YOU WOULD TEAR MY HEART TO PIECES THE FIRST CHANCE YOU GOT! SIDING WITH THOSE MUDBLOOD LOVERS AND HALF-BREEDS! YOU TROGLODYTE! YOU WASTE OF BREATH! I WOULD NEVER HAVE PUSHED YOU OUT IF I HAD KNOWN THE DISGRACE YOU WOULD GROW INTO!"

The opening statement of his mother's Howler was nothing but the prelude of the long string of curses and, incredibly, even more cursing, to follow. Sirius covered his ears, but still the volume of it was such, that he soon wished he were deaf. A little later, he was wishing his throbbing head would explode as his mother wished, thus bringing an end to his misery.

Next to him, the Potters were faring no better; whenever he wrenched his eyes open, he saw them both flinching, their fingers stuck in their ears.

"… STAIN OF DISHONOUR, DON'T YOU DARE SHOW YOUR FACE IN THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS EVER AGAIN! YOU SHOULD HAVE  _DIED_ , DAMN YOU, DAMN YOU TO HELL AND MAY THE VULTURES HAVE YOU!"

It was never-ending, and the little Sirius living in his head was trying to drown himself in the overheated bubble chamber that his brain had become. He privately agreed with it; even drowning, as terrifying as it had been when he'd experienced it, was a kinder fate. Still, his mother ranted on and on, until at long last…

"…DARK LORD WILL KILL YOU AND THE SCUM YOU TURNED YOUR BACK ON YOUR FAMILY FOR! AND I'LL BE GLAD TO KNOW YOU FINALLY ARE NO MORE! GLAD! GLAD GLAD GLAD!  _GLAD_!"

The Howler exploded in a flash of flame, leaving all three of them stunned and lightheaded, a rain of ash falling on them. It made the Potters look even older than they already were.

"I wonder if she'll be glad," Sirius winced out when the letter burst into flames inches away from his nose.

"That was…" Mr. P started, scrubbing his hands up and down his face.

"Just my darling Mum at her best," Sirius answered at a croak, trying to suppress a cough, as Mrs. P shakily pulled him towards her. "Sorry you were here for it."

"That  _hag_!" exclaimed Mrs. P in outrage, and Sirius patted her awkwardly on the back; the poor witch was shaking and everything, she was so cross. Or shaken. Or both. "I can't believe how  _utterly despicable_ —"

"It's okay, Mrs. P."

"No, Pumpkin, it's not."

"It's over," Sirius reminded her. She was trembling with shock and anger, and he was at a loss as to what he could do about that. "It's okay, Mrs. P. Honest."

"At least she can't do more than that," Mr. P reminded her.

"If  _I_  see  _her_  again, I'll have a thing or three to tell her," grumbled Mrs. P, running her hand through Sirius' hair. Sirius flinched at the sudden motion, but it went ignored. Mrs. P was so angry, she might have missed it altogether. "How dare she call herself a  _mother?_!"

Sirius didn't have an answer to that. Then again, he'd grown up hearing his mother's dulcet tones; he figured that someone unused to the Black Manner would find it a little overwhelming.

"I have no idea," Mr. P replied, ruffling his hair up just like James did. "Too bad that the Aurors didn't hear her message; it would have cleared your name in a blinking," he added, making Sirius snort.

For his part, Sirius was just glad that the Silencing Charm meant that his Mum's screeching hadn't woken James up; he was sleeping fitfully, and Sirius was sure he had a fever. Whenever James coughed, the pillows around the Wing fluttered up as one, whacking people — and seemingly targeting the Aurors more often than not — and Sirius suspected that the odd lumps poking him at random inside his mattress were also his best friend's doing. Not that he minded; he welcomed the massage all over his back, although knowing James, the lumps could easily turn out to be a bunch of pixies trying to get out.

Then again, Sirius mused sleepily, pixies, or even his mother, wouldn't even make a dent in his current situation: he hadn't missed Crouch's threat — he wanted to send him to Azkaban, which was a frightening prospect — nor could he forget about it. The Aurors posted close to him made sure of that.

.

* * *

.

The Potters left for the Ministry, promising they'd have a word with Minister Bagnold and forestall Crouch's efforts to arrest Sirius until his trial.

Sirius wanted nothing better than to sleep, but he just couldn't, so he turned things around until his thoughts were threatening to turn into churned butter and dinner time came round. While this did little to solve his present problems, dinner time meant getting something to eat, and he was very hungry.

He'd lost all sense of smell and taste, but the soup Poops brought over was hot and fell heavenly in his churning stomach, and some of the potions she gave him and James — whom she'd woken up to eat as well — made him feel much better and less like a feverish sticky glob of phlegm.

On the other hand, having James awake meant conversation, and for once it didn't revolve around the war or Aurors or Death Eaters, but something else that hadn't been on the forefront (or the back, to be honest) of Sirius' mind for an aeon and a half; and it clearly should have been.

"Aren't you glad you're back at last?" James asked. Sirius honestly had no answer for him, but he was saved from an awkward moment by sheer luck: Nina and Remus walked in with Pete, and conversation turned to James' strategies to beat Ravenclaw — provided Sirius was well enough to play by then — and their friends came bearing gifts and clearly in very high spirits, so Sirius allowed himself to be distracted from the dismal outlook his future offered.

Sirius watched them stop by the Aurors, who seemed to have changed their tune and let them through without a fuss, and Poops stopped Nina, doubtlessly saddling her with his and James' evening potions.

"Hiya, boys," she greeted, as they all perched around his and James' beds with identical wide grins.

"How are you feeling?" asked Nina, taking in Sirius' bandages and giving his cast a glance.

"Like I've been filled with snot and set to a slow boil," Sirius answered croakily, making them laugh.

One bed over, James rasped, "That's nicely put, Pads."

And then, of course, he coughed.

Everyone was suddenly yanked up and started to dance wildly, like puppets. Sirius' legs were doing a stiff sort of gig he wouldn't be capable of otherwise, Remus was tapdancing across the Wing, Nina was twirling round and round in a flawless rendition of the Nutcracker, and Pete… Sirius had no idea what he was dancing, but it looked like he was having a fit on the floor, flopping around like a fish out of the water one minute, doing a somersault the next.

Sirius was laughing so hard it hurt his ribs, but then  _he_  sneezed.

Confetti rained upon them all, and  _everyone_  started laughing hysterically when it touched them. This, of course, made Poops jog to his and James' side, cackling like a madwoman as she passed the Aurors, all five of whom had been lounging nearby and were doing a kind of Foxtrot, and two of them were waltzing between the beds, while laughing their heads off and gasping for help.

"Ha ha ha, Padfoot… ha ha ha  _make it stop_!" James cackled, coughing and trying to make a grab for his trusty hanky, to blow his nose. But as soon as he did, the thing became animated, flying around the Wing like an oversized mucus-covered bat and flapping at everyone as soon as they drew their wands.

"I  _can't_!" Sirius guffawed, holding his stomach as his legs carried him past his friends and into the nurse, who caught him. "You should try to a- _ah_ - _aaah_ -CHOO!"

What he wanted to tell James, namely that he should try to end the spells as he was the only one not dancing, never made it out.

And now, they were all dancing in  _midair_ , while the windows started opening and slamming shut and the candles flared up like torches.

"Mr. Black, Mr. Potter, control yourselves!" Poops giggled hysterically.

"We're  _tryinnng_ ," gasped James, doubled over with laughter. Sirius nodded, trying to hold back another sneeze— but it was all in vain.

"AAAAH-CHOOO!"

Now the beds were also flying up, sheets and pillows acting as wings, and as the main doors of the Wing flew open with a sound like a foghorn, Sirius saw that the insanity wasn't limited to their end of the castle. Outside, there were some students, also laughing insanely as they floated around the hallways.

" _THIS MADNESS SHALL NOW… END!_ " Dumbledore's voice echoed through the castle, and there were many  _thuds_  and  _thumps_  and much clattering as everything stopped moving as one. The beds and things fell to the ground; potions shattered and shelves toppled over; Sirius found himself trapped under a mattress, with Poops for company, and the Aurors had all landed in a heap, after Pete barrelled into them like a bowling ball.

Nina and Remus scrambled up to heave the mattress off them, and Sirius looked up at them, sniffling.

"Bless you!" they chorused, laughing again.

"Wyvern flu," Poops muttered as she was helped to an unsteady stand. "Of course it  _had_  to be wyvern flu."

"Sorry," James said, wrapped in a blanket as the Aurors hurried to right everything yet again.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?" A very unwelcome voice bellowed from the door. All eyes turned to look at Crouch, who was marching in, hat askew and robes splattered with something greenish and vaguely lumpy that Sirius decided against speculating about. Behind him, students poured in, each as dishevelled as the last.

"Just a wee bout of magical flu," Poops answered frostily, giving Crouch an ugly look. "Nothing to worry about. What, pray tell, are you doing here, Barty? Help me right these beds."

"Right the beds?" boomed Crouch. "I am the Minister for Law Enforcement, not a House Elf!"

"Oh, Minister for Law Enforcement, are you?" Poops asked sweetly. "That means you can do magic, yes? Then put it to use, boy!" she snapped, making Crouch jump about a foot in the air. Sirius, who was still on the floor, could fully appreciate her Godzilla side. "We don't want our patients getting even worse, do we?"

"Well, no, Poppy, certainly, but—"

"You can explain yourself while you sort out the bedding," she ordered, crossing her arms over her ample bosom. "And you lot — yes, that means you, Harris, and you, Duval — do neutralise those potions that fell over before we have a time-bomb on our hands."

Nina and Remus helped Sirius hop to a chair, wrapping a warm blanket around him too. They, like him and James, appreciated the hell out of the Hogwarts nurse right now, who was checking the incoming students over — there was nothing worse than a few bumps and bruises, thankfully — and reminded them to drink their potion so they wouldn't catch the disease that had taken hold of her Wing.

Those who could, helped to straighten out the Wing, joking and laughing among themselves.

"Welcome back, Black," reached Sirius' ears, and, "It was boring here without you," and, "I missed you, Sirius!"

A little further away, James was getting helped into his own bed and tucked in… by  _Evans_?! Sirius did a double take, but she didn't vanish, and the lightheadedness coming from James, along with a veritable mosh pit in his stomach that gripped Sirius by extension, only confirmed it.

"Come, come, let's put you back in bed before you get worse," the nurse told him, "your visitors can come see you in a minute."

Sirius caught Crouch's loathsome stare, but he was kept busy tidying up and couldn't approach to— in all honesty, Sirius wasn't sure what he was here for, but he wasn't fool enough to expect anything good from the Minister. The ever-present threat of Azkaban was like an anvil hovering over his head.

"He's not here to arrest you," Nina assured him.

"How can you tell?" asked Sirius warily, his eyes never leaving Crouch's own.

"Uncle Angus told me, that's why we didn't come here right away. He said the Wizengamot backed Dumbledore's decision, and they'll let you stay here until your hearing."

"Why's he here, then?"

"Your guess is as good as ours," Remus pitched in, "maybe he just  _really_ likes to dance."

Sirius chuckled despite himself, imagining stiff old Crouch dancing an Irish reel. Crouch muttered something under his breath. He couldn't catch it, but it made him laugh all the harder, past the ominous itching of his nose.

"Oh, no," he warned, screwing his eyes shut, breath hitching. "Ah- _ah-AH_ -CH—" Remus clamped a hand over his nose, to keep him from sneezing, and Poops poured a potion down his throat not a second later.

It was bitter as anything, but it cleared up his airway at once.

"That should hold you for a bit," said Poops, not unkindly. Today her anger seemed focused only on the Aurors and Crouch. "Barty here was nice enough to fix your bed, you should try to stay in it this time."

"I do  _try_ ," Sirius protested, getting a handful of unconvinced looks in return. "Er… it doesn't always work out."

"We noticed," said Nina, hopping onto the foot of his bed and propping his gammy leg up on a pillow, even as, in the background, Poops was having a very heated, yet forcedly quiet exchange with Crouch and his dozen Aurors. "Now, are you going to introduce me to your friends?"

"Sure," he said, deciding to listen to her advice and focus on the other crowd that had been steadily filling the Wing and was gravitating towards him and James. This crowd, Sirius realised now, he'd sorely missed.

There was Pete's crush, Amelia, and Myron, and Marlene and her brother Michael; the Prewett twins Fabian and Gideon, and Frank, who was ushering Alice inside, and the entire Gryffindor Quidditch Team, led by Caradoc, who seemed to have lost a tooth and was laughing about it as though the confetti had not lost its power, and Seventh Year Benjy Fenwick was helping a handful of underclassmen find their way to chairs and beds — apparently some hadn't had a smooth landing — and someone else who seemed to have fallen into a suit of armour and gotten his — or her — head stuck up one of its legs.

The mood was upbeat and cheerful, however, and some of the Sixth and Seventh Years were helping the nurse sort everyone out.

Sirius introduced everyone to Nina, as he'd promised, getting loads of pats on the back and hugs — not just from the girls, which he found weird — and more candy and chocolates than he could eat in a million years. Not three feet away, James was getting a similar treatment, and chairs scraped and people perched on nearby beds, all wanting to know where he'd been the last couple of months, and what really had happened, and did he really duel all those Death Eaters all by himself?

"Move aside, you!" Interrupted him before he could even start relating — some of — his adventures, and Frank, who as a Sixth Year was almost as tall as Crouch and twice as burly, stood up.

"What's the matter, Minister Crouch?" he asked, in that deep voice of his that made him sound much older than he really was. Sirius suspected that was what made adults trust him more. "Isn't there enough room for you to walk through?"

"I need to speak to Black here," Crouch grumbled, pulling a scroll from his inner robes pocket. "So all of you, clear off."

"Whatever you have to say, just say it," Sirius said, and it came out more tired than he felt. He was sick of the bloody hullaballoo that Crouch seemed to import with him wherever he went. "Unless it must be done with all the pomp and circumstance?"

"I wouldn't be so mouthy if I were you,  _Black_ ," spat Crouch, unfurling the scroll with a flourish, which flew at him like a banner. It was an official-looking thing, with a text in bright purple letters and so many gold-and-purple seals around the edges, that made him dizzy just by looking at it.

"But enjoy your respite as long as it lasts. This Friday, it will be over. You are to stand trial for murder, boy, and nothing you or any of your little friends can concoct will let you walk free. I'll make sure of that, I promise you. You'll rot in Azkaban until nobody even remembers what you look like," he hissed nastily, enjoying the effect it had on the students, who were scandalised and alarmed. Sirius couldn't say he was unaffected by it, either; it made his recently regained confidence waver and made him wonder, not for the last time, if he wouldn't end up in prison after all.

Crouch, at least, seemed convinced of his success in landing him in Azkaban. "I'll personally throw you in a cell and throw away the key," he added acidly, clearly getting into stride for another tirade, which thankfully never left his mouth.

"That's an admirable plan," said a cold voice nearby. Sirius was stunned to note it was James'. He'd never before sounded so frosty. "So why don't you go back to the Ministry and work out the kinks in your strategy, and leave him the hell alone once and for all? Hm?"

"I've got my eye on you too,  _Potter_." Crouch muttered darkly. "If I find out that you have been hiding him, or helping him in any way, you'll be moving into the cell across from his. Mark my words," he snapped, turning on his heel and striding out, a familiar-looking bit of cloth clinging to his back by an impressive amount of snot. "Come Friday, you'll have a new home, Black. So don't get too comfortable here!"

A silence ensued following Crouch's departure, which stretched… and stretched… and in the end, was broken by James.

"Well," he said in a deadpan tone, getting as comfortable as he could, "at least I know where my snotty hanky ended up."

"Do you think we should warn him?" Remus wondered.

Sirius and James both snorted.

" _Nah_."

.

* * *

.

February 10, 1976

WYVERN FLU EPIDEMIC HITS THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC.

The Ministry of Magic has seen some of its Departments close and others being screened for an outbreak of Wyvern Flu. This magical disease can be transmitted by close proximity to anyone who has been infected, and it is characterised by a loss of control of the victim's magic. Although the duration of the disease does not exceed three days except in very rare cases, the chaos it causes on the patients' systems and their surroundings may be longer lasting. Especially in older patients, caution is advised. St. Mungo's has opened its doors and fireplaces to anyone who has been in and around the Ministry in the past two days, to take a potion that will prevent the spread of this disease.

Among those affected, are the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the Department of Magical Catastrophes, and the Counseling offices of the Wizengamot; it appears that Bartemius Crouch, Minister of Law Enforcement, caught this malady at Hogwarts, where this epidemic was forestalled by the timely administration of the counter-potion to all staff and students. Minister Crouch, however, appears to have left the school without taking such a measure, which is being widely criticised by St. Mungo's staff Healers.

"For someone who is in charge of protecting the magical community of the British Isles, he was exceedingly thoughtless," said Margarita Bonneville, Head of the Infectious Disease Wing of the magical hospital. "However much of a hurry he might have been in, it surely warranted taking the counter-potion instead of bringing the illness, which had so far been expertly contained, to the Ministry, where over a hundred witches and wizards caught ill within a few hours."

Minister Crouch is currently in a closed ward at the hospital, being treated for the illness himself, so he was not available for comment.

His aides reported that he went to Hogwarts to check in on Sirius Black, who is being held under surveillance in the Hospital Wing of the school pending his hearing this Friday, when we shall finally learn the truth as to his allegiances and actions, which have, over the past two months, caused so much confusion and speculation throughout the country, and earned him the labels of both Death Eater and murderer, and that of hero. Which of these is the truth, we shall learn soon enough.

For the time being, however, he is a patient at the Hospital Wing, where he is being treated for Wyvern Flu, as well as for injuries sustained either in the service of, or the fight against, the Dark Side.

It has been suggested that Crouch caught the disease when inspecting the security surrounding Black's recovery, and spread the malady in the Ministry upon his return to his office, where upon arrival he held a meeting with members of the DMLE, the Department of Magical Catastrophes, and the Wizengamot, during which he was pushing for Black to be taken to Azkaban pending his hearing.

These requests were denied, and now there is a Ministry-wide epidemic that could have been prevented, had the Minister paid attention to the Hogwarts Nurse's warnings.

Poppy Pomfrey, 83, was available for comment, although she expressly forbade access to the Wing itself.

"We managed to act in time, and only James Potter and Sirius Black caught the Wyvern Flu in the school and Hogsmeade. They're both recovering steadily, but should not be disturbed, much less by idiots like Barty (Crouch), who think they are above such petty things like the prevention of an epidemic."

When asked about her opinion on Sirius Black's allegiances, the Nurse said that "anyone with eyes can see without a doubt that he's innocent. We all saw him duelling the Death Eaters and foiling an attack to the school, so here at least, we are convinced of the truth."

Pomfrey stated that Hogwarts might give the press access for an interview once Black and Potter are discharged from the Wing, should the Headmaster Albus Dumbledore agree to it.

In the meantime, all we can do is wait, and report any new outbreaks of Wyvern Flu to St. Mungo's immediately.

.

* * *

.

Nina folded the paper, whose front page was shared with "BLACK CAPTURED BY MINISTER OF MLE DURING HOGWARTS RAID" which had been written by Rita Skeeter and was, in a nutshell, a crock full o' lies. She was adamant on making him out to be a murderer, apparently. James hadn't allowed Sirius to do much as glimpse what she wrote this time around, but he was fuming after skimming the thing.

The students gathered around James' and Sirius' beds were laughing and joking about Crouch's fall from grace, imagining the chaos at the Ministry whenever anyone sneezed or coughed.

"Serves Crouch right," said Myron, who was plucking on his lyre and trying to compose a song about the epidemic, featuring snot, phlegm, lots of mentions of flying bedpans and teddy bear Aurors, but aside from making everyone laugh all the harder, it wasn't coming along like he wanted.

James and Sirius felt much better after a good night's sleep — with only a few incidents during the night, one of which involved a collective transfiguration of the Aurors and nurse into life-size, walking teddy bears and which both Marauders were claiming credit for — and the nurse herself had announced that afternoon, with no small measure of relief, the worst of the illness was behind them.

This was a cause for a collective celebration, as — according to Remus — the bedridden Marauders had caused quite the commotion.

"Even when you don't mean to, you turn everything topsy-turvy," he decided, after telling them how their sneezing had blasted Filch's office up and forced the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor Third years to relocate their potions class to Dungeon 5. The usual Dungeon 3 apparently was rendered unusable the previous day.

James gave him a satisfied smirk for an answer, while Sirius merely let out a snort.

.

* * *

.

The Wing was quiet, broken only by James' soft snoring and the quiet mutters of the Aurors on duty, who were, incredibly, still awake and more incredibly, still  _watching_  him.

As if he could run, honestly.

Sirius strained his ears, blinking blearily into the half-light of the wing. Something had woken him, but he wasn't sure what; a moment ago, he'd been having a very nice dream — and now he was back to being awake, back to feeling miserable, snotty, and either too warm or too cold. This wyvern flu disease  _was_  funny, but there was also such a thing as too much hilarity — and he and James had rather surpassed that point earlier. Sure, their magic found new ways to express itself every time, and so far he hadn't witnessed a single repeat presentation of anything they'd caused by coughing or sneezing, or — and this had surprised them both — blowing their noses. Hilarious as their friends found their illness, for them both it had gotten old, and the constant discomfort brought about by the fevers, the snot, the chills and the headaches was outweighing even their — until recently thought to be limitless — appreciation for chaos.

So it was that they'd both tried to sleep for ages after their friends had left around curfew, with rather mixed success, and by the time they both managed a doze, they'd been reduced to groaning and trying to huff air through clogged noses and phlegmy lungs.

Therefore, it might be understandable that Sirius wasn't in a mood for his inner watchdog tonight; however, instinct was instinct, and it was impossible to ignore.

He didn't stir, too tired to make out anything in the nighttime gloom. His nose wasn't any help either, having lost all sense of smell, but just as he closed his eyes and tried to go back to experiencing torpor, a low rustle of fabric made them snap open again.

" _Silencio_." It was a barely-audible whisper, but it was alarming. Who would sneak in here in the dead of night, using some form of invisibility, and then mute his corner of the world from prying ears?

That's right. Slytherins or Death Eaters — which was sort of redundant, Sirius had to admit.

 _Oh no, not again_ , thought Sirius miserably, but he was tensing despite himself, reaching for his wand, which he had stashed in the plaster wrapped around his leg.

Well, to be entirely honest, he'd been using it to scratch at an itchy spot right above his knee and then sort of left it there, but his hand went straight to it under the covers while he looked around for the source of the noise.

"It's me," said a familiar, much-missed voice that woke him up much better than an alertness potion would have.

" _Reg_?" He hadn't meant to sound incredulous, should maybe not have been surprised, but he was both these things and couldn't help himself.

A cold, barely visible hand landed on Sirius' forearm, clutching lightly. It was trembling.

"I should've come sooner. But." Reg's voice was trembling too. It made him sound odd, quite unlike himself.

"You're okay?" Sirius asked him, concerned. He'd not seen his baby brother for ages, and though Remus and Pete and even James had told him how Reg seemed to be doing, Sirius suspected it might just have been a show. He himself had grown used to it, after all.

Regulus laughed a little, "I should be the one to ask you that. But yeah, I'm, you know. Fine." There was a silence, during which Reg didn't let go of his forearm. "I thought they'd killed you." It came in a low voice, filled with emotion. And just like that, Reg's Disillusionment Charm faded. Sirius didn't miss how worn-out his brother looked. How tired.

"They gave it their best shot."

"When I came home, when I  _saw_  —" Reg cut himself off, but Sirius knew what he meant. He shook his head.

"What could you have done about it, Reg?"

"I should've done  _something_."

"And you'd be dead for it."

"Is that such a bad thing?" Reg asked bitterly.

"There are nicer ways of getting there. Death by Muncher… eh, not so much."

"Will you get better?"

"I hope. Will you come visit?"

"Yeah." Reg nodded tightly. "But."

"It's okay, Reg. Watch your back."

"Watch yours. They want you dead. They want to kill you, they…"

"I know."

"It's most of the House, now," Regulus warned, perched on the edge of Sirius' bed.

"Really? I'm becoming popular at the Snake pit."

Reg snorted, but he helped himself to a chocolate frog, so Sirius suspected he was managing to ease his baby brother's mind a little.

"You did get most of their parents, cousins, older siblings, what have you," he added matter-of-factly, perusing his card, "they're all either hospitalised or imprisoned."

"You've got a point, baby brother."

"Seriously, though." Reg gave him a pointed look that made Sirius' attempt at the old pun wither and die before it was even out. "Watch what you eat or drink. They have a potion… A bad one, and—" Reg swallowed back whatever else he wanted to say. Sirius understood anyway.

"I saw you, duelling them," he said, a moment later. "Before the Squid got you. Will you teach me that spell? The water one?"

"Sure," Sirius promised. "But you might have to go to Azkaban to learn it."

"Do you really think they'll send you there?"

Sirius shrugged. That very question had haunted him for ages. "They might."

"Sucks to be you."

"Only about half the time."

"Which half?"

"The waking half," answered Sirius.

They chuckled together, and Sirius realised only then how much he'd missed his brother. Not that he'd mention it; Blacks just  _didn't_  do emotions well, and outcast as he may be, he couldn't deny what he was made of, or what he was. He didn't do emotions much better than the rest of his blood relations.

"I'll try to come back tomorrow," Reg promised after a while. "I'll bring the chessmen, and you can tell me everything you've been up to since last year. Um." He stopped, gesturing pleadingly at himself while giving Sirius a look that made him look rather constipated. Blacks didn't do asking for help well either, Sirius noted. "Give me a hand here? I'm no good with Disillusionment Charms."

Sirius smirked. Reg had always had trouble with what he regarded as a basic survival spell. He rapped his wand on the top of Reg's head, then nodded with satisfaction as his younger brother vanished, blending in with his surroundings so seamlessly, he was as good as invisible.

"Watch your back," Reg reminded him again, as a handful of chocolate frogs floated from their bowl and vanished, no doubt into his pockets.

The next moment, he was gone.

.

* * *

.

Being a Dark Lord was a lonely path. Not that Voldemort minded, as a rule; there was seldom a time when he craved a sort of company who understood the nuances of being a conqueror of his kind, of being an innovator who broke and shifted old paradigms wherever he went.

Now was such a time.

He settled behind his massive mahogany desk, an elaborately carved affair that had belonged to the Riddles for generations beyond counting, and pulled out a sheaf of parchment — pressed, not rolled — out of a drawer. He dipped his eagle feather quill into his gilded inkwell and wrote:

" _Dear Mr. Thanatovich,_

_I trust this letter will find you well and thriving, and that its contents will persuade you, as I am convinced it will, to visit this little rain-soaked island of mine for a most profitable venture._

_As it happens, I have been well aware of your favourite sport for a while, and I have found someone who will most assuredly bring you the very sort of entertainment you so actively seek. His name is Sirius Black, from that illustrious family you know so well — I have the means to allow you access to him, in exchange of one other, by the name of James Potter. You may, of course, duel them both and I wish by the Gods of old that you vanquish them both._

_Thus being the terms of our agreement, the profits will be shared 50-50, where I wish to deal with Potter myself. There is no need for him to be healthy, mind. Barely alive suits me just as well. For you, I shall leave you Black, who has proven to be quite a teenaged pebble in my shoe. Black you may deal with as you wish, although may I recommend the most painful, slowest death you could contrive for him? It is honestly the least he deserves, but I am confident that you will be much more creative when dealing with him._

_I await your response with eagerness, although I would welcome a personal call much more. The sooner you can dispatch these boys and deliver Potter to me, the better for us all._

_Long live the Pureblood Cause._

_Lord Voldemort I,_

_Little Hangleton, England_

Voldemort read his letter over again, a satisfied smirk on his lips. He rolled up the scroll, tied it up with a silver ribbon, then snapped his fingers to make the fire flare up. He wasn't in the mood to wait for his vulture to make the trip all the way to Russia and back. That would take days, and he felt uncharacteristically impatient for the reply.

Thanatovich wasn't, and never would be, his follower. Sure, the wizard could be one of his most trusted Death Eaters if he so desired — Voldemort would be rather ecstatic of this were the case — but this incredibly powerful wizard was not interested in the Pureblood Cause.

Normally, this would be cause for Voldemort to have him killed, but Thanatovich had another set of values altogether: he valued one thing the Dark Lord had to respect, and that was power, pure and simple.

In that regard, they were like-minded.

Only, Rasmus Thanatovich III wanted nothing other than beat the most powerful witches and wizards in one-on-one duels to the death (or something of the sort, Voldemort had never much bothered to learn the details), and thus cared less about blood purity than magical prowess. And it was this where they both differed. Where Voldemort wanted to further the old blood, Thanatovich wanted powerful adversaries. So far, this suited the Dark Lord perfectly, and it wasn't the first time he'd nudged the crazy Russian towards hard-to-kill targets.

He wondered briefly why he'd waited this long to draft Thanatovich to get rid of the scion of the Blacks, but the answer came to him an instant later: he had, until yesterday, still entertained the possibility that Black could be used to fuel his own power.

Voldemort hadn't wanted to share.

Now he had no choice, really.

He mused about this for the space of a breath, coming to the conclusion that he should have left the kid to Thanatovich from the start. Ever since that winter night where the boy dissipated the Cruciatus, Voldemort had been wary of him. He was like an ocean storm, he could turn into a cyclone of destruction at the drop of a hat. Orion had known that. So did Walburga. Voldemort had not expected it to blow up in his face.

Let Rasmus deal with him. At the very least, that would give him Potter. It wouldn't be ideal, but it would have to be enough. He was honestly too vexed at Black to even want him inside him.

Knowing the damned brat, he'd find a way to give him indigestion for the rest of his life, or something equally unpleasant. Long as Voldemort intended to live (for eternity or until he grew bored), absorbing Black to fuel himself could only be a bad idea.

Voldemort nodded to himself, then threw a fistful of dark green powder into the fireplace. It wasn't Floo Powder, but it served a similar purpose.

The fireplace flashed blue, Voldemort tossed the scroll inside, then made himself comfortable on his favourite armchair. As an afterthought, he clapped for his Squib slaves to bring wine and some snacks while he waited.

There was a flash of blue light in the middle of the room — there goes the carpet again, Voldemort thought — and as the light vanished, it revealed an elegantly-clad wizard perusing the letter with a look of a man starved of his favourite food for too long.

To his credit, Thanatovich didn't seem surprised to suddenly find himself standing on Voldemort's once-white polar bear rug. He merely looked up from the scroll and gave the Dark Lord an intense stare.

Yep, thought Voldemort, the man is insane.

Good.

Thanatovich grinned.

Voldemort had the answer he wanted. And yes, he grinned too.

.

* * *

.

Wednesday dawned crisp and foggy, and the castle was not unlike a Muggle freezer as Minerva McGonagall decided to pay a certain someone a visit about a certain something.

She passed Argus and a troupe of House Elves along the way; all were busy starting fires in the many fireplaces of the castle, or defrosting some of the stonier passages before the students awoke. They paid her little mind, busy hurrying to get this chore done, and it suited her well. She wasn't in the mood to answer any questions about her early morning jaunt through the castle.

In fact, she didn't really want to go to Poppy with her request, but despite what everyone was saying, Minerva was certain Sirius wouldn't be arrested; she wasn't  _that_  lucky, after all, was she? The reason for her visit to the Hospital Wing was proof of her rather ill luck of late.

No, she mused, he would walk free, and she would  _have no choice_ but to give him and James Sex Ed.

Now, Minerva wasn't oblivious to the mechanics of the thing. She'd lived a long, full life, despite what her students seemed to think. She was even married, not that the kids knew — or, she suspected, cared — but that didn't mean she had an inkling of a clue as to how to breach the subject with her rowdiest, smartest, most insufferable and obnoxious lions.

 _Gods_.

She sighed to herself, while she waited for the corridor she had taken to adjust itself into place. Her best bet — and only hope, at this point — was Poppy. She was a nurse, after all. Minerva was sure she had given hundreds of students advice on this topic.

Maybe she even had pamphlets or something.

Despite her resolve, Minerva blushed as she reached the first floor, and her face reddened further as she advanced.

All too soon, she was beet-red, in front of the Hospital Wing doors.

And then the thought struck her; what if Potter and Black were  _awake_ in there? They hadn't yet been released, as far as she knew, and she knew them well enough to suspect they were already up and scheming. That was all they did, after all, wasn't it? She'd learnt a lot about them over the past month, and one thing was, the required schoolwork of the Hogwarts curriculum was nothing to them. She'd have to find a way to challenge them, keep them busy and thus, out of her hair.

Sex Ed, Minerva. Focus.

Minerva took a deep breath that failed to steady her, and walked into the Hospital Wing as quietly as she dared.

Her fears were unfounded: Potter and Black were deeply asleep, even the Aurors set to watch them were dozing in uncomfortable-looking positions.

For a moment, Minerva feared even Poppy would be unavailable, but then she heard the faint sound of a kettle in her office, and hurried over.

"Poppy?" Minerva ventured, easing the nurse's door open.

"Minerva, come on in, come on in. What brings you here so early? Tea?"

How Poppy could be so chipper this early in the morning was beyond Minerva. She wished for something rather stronger than tea, but she nodded anyway, a little curtly perhaps, but she was  _tense_.

"There is a matter of some importance I need to discuss with you, Poppy, if you would be so kind."

The nurse nodded, busying herself with the tea.

"It's about… Black and Potter," Minerva continued nervously.

"Is there anything wrong with them?" Poppy rushed to her door and peered out.

"No. No — not as such. It's, erm." Minerva was flustered as anything, her voice lowered all on its own. "It's just… Coop asked me to… to give them Sex Ed." That last was delivered at a barely audible whisper, so that the nurse had to lean in to hear.

Poppy was silent for a moment.

She blinked.

Then she burst out laughing.

"You…?" she gasped, half in tears of mirth. Minerva nodded. Now it was out, she didn't appreciate Pomfrey's reaction one bit. Poppy, though, just laughed harder. Pointed in the general direction of the two sleeping miscreants. "Them?" she asked.

Minerva nodded again, curtly.

"Yes, yes," she said impatiently. "Coop and Betty are too scared to do it, and yet they insist those two need to know all the ins and outs of—" Blast. That didn't come out right, did it? Minerva sighed as the nurse giggled like a schoolwitch.

Gah, couldn't she be a little more grownup on the matter?

Poppy wiped her eyes, but didn't stop giggling.

Apparently not.

"I was wondering if you could give me some pointers?" Minerva asked tensely, resigned to being a laughing stock from here on out and until the end of her tenure. "I figured you had some experience on the matter, and—"

Another peal of helpless laughter.

Good grief.

" _And_  I was wondering if you had, oh I don't know, a brochure? A pamphlet, maybe? Some ideas, at least?" There. It was out at last. Now if the dratted witch would stop laughing, Minerva could run into her favourite plush den and curl up, and pretend this never happened.

Oh, who am I kidding?

"Well Minerva," the nurse said, hiccoughing with mirth, "There's this flower, you see, and then the bee flies in and scoops up some pollen…"

"I know how it's done," Minerva snapped, then forcibly restrained herself. "I just don't know how to talk to… to  _them_."

Poppy grinned at her.

Toothily.

Gah.

"I appreciate the problem. To be honest, I wouldn't know how to talk to them either," she said in the end, then turned around to fix two cuppas. Minerva sank into a chair, her hopes crushed.

"You need to establish some kind of rapport with those two," came next, unexpectedly. Minerva perked up at once.

"How?" She asked, not caring that she sounded as desperate as she felt. Her eyes fixed on the nurse, who sat down next to her and placed a platter of biscuits on the table. Poppy thought hard for a moment, during which Minerva hardly dared to blink. At length she opened her mouth.

And what came out was…

"I have no idea."

Minerva groaned into her tea.

Poppy patted her on the shoulder.

"There, there. I'm sure you'll figure it out," she said bracingly, in a tone that suggested, 'better you than me.'

"I'm going to kill Coop."

"No, you won't. You'll raffle yourself up and sort this out. All you need to do is talk to them in terms they will understand, something they can relate to. And you'll do it brilliantly."

.

* * *

.

P

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC, R&R (no, I don't mean rest and relaxation. I mean the *other* R&R. Pro tip: Rhymes with "Sea and a view")
> 
> Next up: A trial, in full wizarding style. Voldemort entertains. There's lots of legalese being thrown about, Dementors also get thrown about, Snape and Narcissa are dumb, what else is obvious, Moody makes an appearance, Sirius is cool, James loses his cool, Voldemort acquires a twitch… and an ally who spells trahbol (no, really, he's a terrible speller when he talks #IdonthateRussians! #ImactuallylearningRussian! #politicallycorrect!DND), Sirius does a strip dance without, y'know, the dancing bit, and there's a very scary haunting. And whatever else my brain can concoct.
> 
> Stay tuned, and Happy New Year!


	22. Friday the Thirteenth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: There’s a trial, as Crouch so ominously foretold. And three guesses who attends it. Do you know who? Also, Voldemort proves himself as the best host ever, the Aurors have gotten their knickers wound a notch too tight, letters and notes abound, James is creative, Sirius is worried with every reason, Pete is shellfish — er, selfish — and Remus is a surprisingly good liar. Crouch gets his moment of triumph, and there’s a very frightening haunting and some cross-dressing/gender changes. No, for reals this time.  
> Yep, this one’s got it all, bromance, romance, passionate hate and love triangles. No, wait, that’s not this chapter! Ahh! Curses!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Master Pratt could eat no fat, his wife could eat no lean; and so between the two of them, I don’t own anything. No, rly. Even this chapter’s title is a major horror franchise. #NothingsNew

* * *

 

 

**Part Twenty-Two: Friday the Thirteenth**

 

* * *

 

 

"So." Rasmus' placid, jarring voice was making the Dark Lord's ears hurt. He did not, however, curse the Russian wizard into next week, or even turn him temporarily into a newt.

And no, it wasn't because Voldemort feared him.

He _didn't_.

No, really. He didn’t.

It was because, well. He was asking for a big favour, and because he had invited Rasmus to stay over for as long as it took to turn his mind around. It would not reflect well on him as a host if he went turning his house guest into some random… reptile, would it?

It wasn't easy, however.

Just today, he had sent his Death Eaters — the handful that had escaped the Aurors — home and paused his raids on known dissenters. Rasmus' presence was effectively putting a stop to most of his operations.

Instead, he had soundproofed the dungeons and turned his attention on hosting meals and spending hours on end "catching up" with the Russian wizard.

All this, he reminded himself, was for a bloody good reason.

So Voldemort did none of the dreadful, delightful things his imagination was suggesting. Instead, he raised an inquisitive eyebrow, feigned curiosity, in spite of knowing what Rasmus wished to discuss now.

It had been the same thing for days: Black and Potter. Potter and Black. Black's every exploit, some of them retold _twice over_.

Instead of planning to kill the damn brat, it sounded as though Rasmus wanted to marry him.

"Tell me frehnd,” Rasmus prompted in his heavy accent, elegantly leaning back on his couch. “Tell me moar of Black boy and his escape."

 _Here we go again_ , Voldemort thought wearily, but still he humoured Rasmus. The man hadn't yet decided to agree to his terms, after all, and he _wouldn't_ unless Voldemort could convince him that the Black brat was indeed worthy of his particular brand of attention. 

 _Thank the gods for Firewhiskey_.

"Which one?" Voldemort asked, trying to sound genial and almost managing. "There have been several."

"I haff read in paper," said Rasmus, taking a sip of his wine. "Black boy, he haff put you in of a mouth with teeth, no?"

 _That one? You want to hear_ that _one?_

Voldemort's composure began to waver. Surely he wasn't desperate enough to go through with this, reminiscing on his only defeat to date… for _Rasmus_ ' sake?

But if he did… Rasmus would certainly want to kill Sirius Black. He would give him James Potter, as this was the agreed price for Black. And once James Potter was at his mercy, the world would be laid at Voldemort's feet.

That Voldemort didn't own Sirius Black or James Potter conveniently escaped both wizards' minds.

"That he did," the Dark Lord heard himself say frostily. "I must admit… he took me by surprise."

"Vy?"

 _Gods almighty_.

"If you must know," Voldemort said curtly, "I had him by the throat. I _was_ about to kill him."

"But you not keel, you let boy go." Nothing escaped Rasmus, apparently.

"He had help," Voldemort was quite in the mood for a sulk now. After his unpleasant guest retired for the evening, he resolved, he would go out for a stroll. Kill a few dissenters. A couple of Mudbloods.

"Ah, da. So it be help of boy put you in of mouth?" Rasmus mimicked a pair of huge jaws opening and closing with his fingers, but he sounded disappointed.

"No. No, no, it was Black, there's no doubt about that. The boy is, shall we say, resourceful. One moment's distraction was all it took."

"Vy you not haff put boy in army of you?" was the next irritating, earnestly curious question.

"He insists on casting his lot with Mudbloods and half-breeds," said the Dark Lord. "He has for years. And he has become most… vexing to me."

_Just like you._

"Can your loyal army not keel?"

"They have run into unforeseen circumstances," replied Voldemort. "Black is resilient, and clever, but he is also headstrong, and," Voldemort would never have thought he'd have to sell Black's prowess to anyone or convince them of his worth. Every word a bitter taste, he went on, "he is the most powerful heir the Black line has had since Merlin. If I could get him alone, maybe in a few years, I could perhaps get him to turn, but he is too stubborn. And right now, he is also too well protected. Fleamont Potter—"

"Ah, Flee-mont Potter," Rasmus interrupted, sounding almost dreamy. "Great duellist."

"Yes, and another rock in my shoe."

Rasmus laughed genially.

"Shoe of you must be heavy," he chortled. "Full of many rocks. Make hard for to valk."

"You have no idea." Voldemort resigned himself to being the butt of the joke for the remainder of the evening. However insulting and angering Rasmus' questions were, he had to admit one thing: there were no duellists alive who were as driven as Rasmus Thanatovich.

Because Rasmus Thanatovich had killed them all.

He was, Voldemort was certain, the only remaining hope of catching hold of Black and Potter. He was, however, _only_ interested in duelling, nothing more. He wanted to be the most powerful duellist of all time, and to judge by his exploits during the Grindelwald war when he was no older than Black himself, and to date, he was well on the way of becoming the last living professional duellist.

Early on in his career, the Dark Lord had tried to get Rasmus to join his Knights of Walpurgis. Besides Sirius Black, the Russian was the only wizard to turn him down, and the only one Voldemort allowed to live after his refusal; it wasn’t because Rasmus was too powerful, no.

Rasmus didn't care about blood purity or wizarding rights. All he wanted in life was to find the most powerful witches and wizards… and kill them all in one-on-one duels. They could be half Mooncalf for all he cared.

Well, okay. So he'd said "defeat", not kill. But he'd never allowed any of his opponents to survive. And that was another reason to humour him: in exchange for Black, Voldemort wanted Rasmus to bring him James Potter, alive. The Russian wizard had not yet agreed to it.

Neither, however, had he turned it down.

He was intrigued, and Voldemort had to show him that Black was a worthy opponent, James a mere pushover.

Even if it cost him his dignity.

What little was left of it at this point.

Voldemort would gladly have set him up to duel Dumbledore himself… But the Hogwarts Head was the only one whom Rasmus would not go up against.

" _Cheat_ ," Rasmus spat when Voldemort asked him why he didn't try his hand at the old wizard, who was at the top of the Dark Lord's blacklist and would make an even better target than Black. "Dumbly-door can not be defeat in duel. His wand," he explained, gesticulating in the air. "It haff been wand of Grindelwald. No defeat because it wand of _dirty_ cheat."

"What do you mean?"

"Stick of… eh, I forget filthy name of," Rasmus had responded dismissively. "Always win duel. Not good for to fight. Too easy defeat enemy."

"Couldn't you kill him in some other way?" Voldemort asked, his curiosity peaked. That sounded like… Could it be? "With such a wand in your power—"

"No fun for to job," was the final answer. "If I haff wand for to win every duel, I vood be cheat. Rasmus Thanatovich no is dirty cheat. And I haff to duel for honour of me."

"Well, in that case," said Voldemort, "Black is a pretty good option. So far he has escaped even the best-laid ambush."

"I vant."

"What do you want?" Voldemort asked keenly, as the tall Russian wizard rose from his seat to pour himself some more of his best aged red in a fluid, almost sweeping motion. Was he really convinced at _last_?

"Flea-mont Potter." Rasmus examined his wine glass critically, swirled it, his clear brown eyes fixed on the liquid with almost obsessive intensity. "I vant."

"But… _Black_ —" Voldemort felt rather lost. "It's Sirius Black you want."

"Niet," Rasmus corrected, returning to his seat and making himself comfortable again. "Flea-mont Potter, _him_ I vant. I niet know if I vant Black or no. I haff to put eyes on Black boy for to see. Then, I vill decide," came next, to Voldemort's dismay. "Sirius Black is veriy…” Rasmus snapped his fingers in the air, casting about for a word. “… young. He grow, he get stronger. He better duellist if he grow. James Potter too."

" _What_?" Voldemort couldn't believe what he was hearing. He nearly dropped his Firewhiskey.

"I, no hurry. But Flea-mont Potter, he _old_ ,” Rasmus explained patiently, as if he were talking to a toddler. “Past prime, da? I vant, and I vant soon."

 

* * *

 

 

On his front row seat, James tapped his quill against the sheaf of parchment on which he was passing notes. Each Marauder had one, and their messages looked to everyone else, like regular classwork. He glanced at Remus' last message and looked around with a heavy sigh. He was bored by the class — a regular occurrence — and too much on edge to even pretend to be paying attention. His eyes fell on the words that had just appeared on his parchment.

 **‘You're doing it again — stop that,’** was written in block letters — conveying his furry friend’s annoyance at him with his customary tidiness and precision.

There was a stretching silence on the page, during which McGonagall demonstrated how to transfigure an animal into a candle holder and the dust in the air into candles, which they were supposed to light to pass the class.

James glanced around at his friends. They were bent over their parchments, trying hard to look like they were very concentrated on their notes. As James saw it, they honestly needn’t even have bothered. Everyone in the classroom was shifting restlessly about, class forgotten. His sharp ears heard words he’d long grown used to paying attention to. They were discussing Sirius' trial, which would take place the following morning, which only seemed to exasperate him and the Transfiguration Teacher, who nevertheless bravely plowed on about the nuances of wand movements and focusing on the type of material for the candles, so on.

Once the Wyvern Flu was under control, Hogwarts wasted no time falling into its usual routine of meals, classes, Quidditch practice.

Well.

To be fair, the school valiantly tried. Sirius’ return and everything that came with it were more than fair contenders for the students’ attention, and the youngest Potter suspected it wouldn't fade anytime soon, no matter what the outcome of Sirius' trial tomorrow. To him it felt like it wouldn't ever go away, and yet here he was, wasting his time on a stupid class instead of trying to figure out how to help Sirius. His flowing cursive was the only one absent from James' parchment, and he was well aware why: Sirius was not exactly hopeful about his current situation, and the school itself wasn't helping, either.

James had been released from the Hospital Wing late on Tuesday into a boiling pot of gossip. This hadn’t changed by Thursday, and though any other time he’d have enjoyed the extra attention — which he didn’t exactly mind as much as he maybe _should_ — he put up with it with an outward facade of utter optimism. Inwardly though, he was increasingly jumpy and stressed out as Sirius’ trial loomed. Whatever his parents and Dumbledore had said would happen before they agreed to let Sirius return to school, it didn’t hold a candle to what had actually happened.

Ministry officials came and went from the wizarding school in droves, the halls were being patrolled by Aurors, and Remus’ prefect rounds had been cancelled, taken over by Hit Wizards. A strict nine o'clock curfew was enforced, guards doubled at night. All of this was to keep Sirius from murdering everyone, the papers — and Slytherins — said.

It was bad.

It was so bad, in fact, Remus thought that Sirius was lucky he wasn’t shackled to a bed or in Azkaban already, and every time James complained about the short time they allowed him to visit his best friend, Remus reminded him he was lucky to get to see him at all, even if it was for only half an hour a day: Visits had been forbidden the instant Crouch was allowed to send out a message from St. Mungo’s. James was the only outside contact Sirius had had for days, and that was only because his Dad made a compelling case.

James' parents had tried to turn things around, Merlin knew they had. So had Dumbledore, and McGonagall, even Moody and scores of Aurors. None of them had managed to get the Ministry off Sirius’ back at all, however, and he had come dangerously close to ending up in Azkaban to wait out his trial there after an irate Crouch accused him of wilfully spreading the Wyvern Flu in the Ministry. The Ministry didn't seem to care that it was Crouch who spread the disease, or that there were hundreds of people who’d witnessed Sirius fighting against the Dark Side, nobody cared that he was underage and still not well enough to weather the harsh prison. They clamoured for him to be locked up and to toss away the key.

Until Poops lost her patience.

She’d single-handedly cowed Crouch into shutting up and leaving Sirius in her wing. On Tuesday, she’d even gotten him a little freedom by telling the Ministry officials he needed the exercise to heal, and Dumbledore gave him free run of the castle and grounds… under close Auror supervision. It didn't exactly happen like that, but the thought was nice.

Only, James mused while McGonagall was going over the parts of the spell for the third time, none of that was helping his friend, not by a long shot. He knew, because he tried to keep up an ongoing conversation in his mind with Sirius… and Sirius had become increasingly distant, hiding his own worries from him and fallen back on his old habit of pretending he was right as rain. James didn't have the heart to call him on it.

 _Do you think they’ll lock him up?_ Pete’s scrawl appeared on James’ parchment.

 **Crouch will certainly try.** Remus was starting to bring James down.  **  
**

‘Shut up, Moony,’ James wrote. ‘It won't happen. I won't allow it.’

“… So all of you, take out your wands please, and summon a rat from the cage to try out the spell. That means you too, Jones.”

**You really think the Ministry will listen to anything you have to say? It's Crouch we're talking about, not McGonagall.**

_What’s McGonagall got to do with anything?_

**She luuuuuurves our Prongs, while Crouch hates him?**

_Oh. The THING. Righty-ho._  

‘Guys!’

_Sry_

**Sorry**.

James stared at the page, wondering how they, the legendary Marauders, were reduced to doing exactly the same things the school gossips were doing all around them. They should be coming up with a million ideas to help, not this pessimistic, defeatist nonsense!

**So, you were saying?**

‘We just need to figure something out to help,’ wrote James. He sighed in exasperation, even as McGonagall did the same from the chalkboard. 

**We can’t even see him, not even you can outside visiting hours, how do you propose to help?**

‘Don't be so negative, Moony.’

**Or do you mean help him during the trial?**

_You’re only allowed to go because you’re a witness._ Pete was still bitter about it, apparently. _  
_

**Or because Crouch wants you locked up too**.

‘Light and joy you are.’ James turned to glare at Remus, who gave him a helpless shrug from his third-row seat.

 **I'm just calling it like it is**.

James picked up his quill and wrote: ‘I don’t think they have enough to send him to prison, Moony. Or me. Dumbledore is ready to use a Pensieve to show them what really happened. There’s a handful of Aurors who’ll testify in his favour, and Owens has been blaring his testimony everywhere. So, unless Crouch can prove Sirius killed that Muggle girl, he’s got nothing.’

James looked up, caught McGonagall's pointed look, and hurried to summon a rat, which he placed on his desk.

_So you mean there's no way he'll go to prison?_

‘Exactly.’

 **You think he’s okay?** Moony seemed to be catching on to what mattered most here. At last.

James let out another audible sigh. McGonagall glanced over at him, and he tapped the rat as it was scurrying off, headed for his bookbag. A moment later, a large candle holder with three dancing flames was on his desk. McGonagall nodded and stepped towards Fabian, whose candle holder was squeaking in terror and trying to scramble away from his lighting spell.

“Outstanding work, Mr. Potter,” said McGonagall in passing. “Ten points.”

James turned the rat back into its usual self and levitated it to its cage, where it happily went back to gnawing on some cheese.

**At least say thank you, James.**

‘Thank you, James.’

 _Sirius hasn’t answered all day. So, there’s your answer, Remus._ 

**Maybe they took his parchment away. You know how they get. They didn’t even let him keep the Two-Way Mirror.**

_Or maybe he just doesn’t want to talk to us?_  

‘It’s not that,’ James wrote. ‘I bet he’s just at the Library again.’

**Why does he keep going there?**

‘Because it’s the last place anyone will go looking for him.’

**Yeah, most people think he can't even read.**

_So, what do you mean by helping him?_

‘He's worried they'll give him Veritaserum. He told me this morning.’

**Veritaserum?**

‘Yep.’

 _Um… what’s_ —

**Truth potion thing. You’re supposed to be the expert.**

_Oh_

**But you said he didn’t kill the girl, so what is he worried about?**

‘He’s worried that if he says anything, everyone who helped him will be in danger. And because he’s a dog Animagus. He’s afraid he’ll go to Azkaban because of that.’ And because he claimed nothing good could come from anything that happened on Friday the thirteenth. He was convinced that just the date Crouch picked was enough to get him a life sentence.

_Shit_

**Shit.**

_Do you think he’ll tell them about us?_

‘I don’t think he’ll mention us at all.’

 _But what if he does?_ Pete wrote. James could hear the frantic scratching of his quill across the room. _What if he tells them? We'll be toast and I don't want to go to Azkaban!_

'He won't, Pete, give him some credit. If there's anyone who can keep a secret no matter what, it's Sirius.'

 _But man... gah_.

**So that’s why he keeps going to the Library?**

‘No, he can’t very well go looking for books to counter the effects of Veritaserum right under the Aurors’ noses, can he?’

**Then why does he go there?**

_Yeah, he practically lives there now._

‘Don’t worry, Remus, he won’t break your favourite chair.’

**That’s not what I meant.**

‘Well, he doesn’t feel all right, and he likes that it’s quiet.’

_But he’s better, isn’t he?_

‘Just because he can walk and talk doesn’t mean he’s better, Pete, don’t be daft.’

**Summon your rat, Pete. She's looking at you.**

Peter hurried to summon a big white rat that looked loads like his Animagus form, while trying to keep up with the ongoing discussion.

 _But…_   next, a blotch appeared, James didn’t bother trying to decypher it. Pete was struggling to keep his rat on the desk.

In the background, McGonagall cleared her throat. She was towering over Pete now.

"Sorry!" Pete squeaked.

"Don't apologise, Mr. Pettigrew," said McGonagall curtly. "Candle holder, _now_."

James and Remus watched Pete attempt turning the rat into a candle holder, but all it did was grow furry candle stubs on its back.

“That’s ten points from Gryffindor,” McGonagall grumbled. “And a foot of parchment on what you did wrong and how to correct it for tomorrow, Pettigrew.”

**Tell me you know what to do about the Veritaserum, Prongs.**

_Yeah, the trial is tomorrow, and what if he goes and blabs about all of us we’ll end up in prison too._

‘It’s not a trial, it’s a disciplinary hearing!'

**Delude yourself if it helps you. He’s being tried for murder, and we all know it.**

James decided to ignore his werewolf friend. Getting mad at Moony, however rare the occurrence, was never something he could win. He was well aware that when left alone together, Sirius and Remus referred to him and Pete as 'roadkill' and 'the snack', and it wasn't just a joke. He and Peter were just not bloodthirsty predators. So, instead of giving some rude kind of response to his furriest friend, he swallowed it back. Instead, he wrote:

'They won’t ask him about you, so I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about, Pete. And!'

James tapped his quill against the parchment, making little dots appear on it.

'I got nothing, Moony.’

**Well that's never good.  
**

_He should have told us sooner. Typical Sirius._

‘Choo mean?’

_To give us time to figure something out! I don’t want to go to prison, man. And he’ll go and tell the world about us and all now._

**Yeah the Wizengamot will be there. All fifty-two of them**.

‘All of them? How do you know?’ James decided to ignore Pete's written wailing.

**Marlene told me this morning.**

‘He shouldn’t be tried for murder. They should be giving him a bloody medal.’

**Or leave him alone, you mean.**

‘Or that, Remus. Yes. But that should apply to everyone, not just the Wizengamot.’

 _What do you mean, leave him alone?_  

**He doesn’t really fancy being around people, we told you. Remember?**

_I forgot about that. He never did that before._

‘He’s not like he used to be, Pete.’

**No kidding.**

‘You can’t still be mad at him for that. He couldn’t help himself.’

_So what do we do?_

‘After the trial I think we should throw him a party.’

_But you just said he doesn’t like people! And you're forgetting we might have the party in Azkaban!  
_

‘He does like people, he just doesn’t like being around them when they grope him or talk to him and he’s not expecting it.’

**Yeah, did you see how he batted Marlene away when she tried to hug him?**

‘She caught him unawares! He can’t help reacting like that, I told you already!’

**Yeah, but it was Marlene!**

‘Remus, you got a thing for her, he doesn’t.’

**He made that clear.**

_Yeah, he luuuurves Nina._

‘Yeah, but it’s not about Marlene. He doesn’t like anyone touching him. He didn’t before, either.’

_I hadn't noticed. But I get it, now it’s worser._

**Worser is not a word, Pete.**

_Choo mean?_

**Well, just say worse.**

_Oh. Less letters, even better._

**Fewer. _Fewer_ letters, Pete.**

_Righto_.

‘Guys!’

 **Sorry**.

 _Sorry_.

‘Focus, gentlemen.’

 **Sorry**.

 _Sorry_.

‘We need to figure out how to get around the Veritaserum. And pronto.’

The bell rang, signalling the end of the class. James got up as though fitted with a spring, rolled up his parchment and pocketed it, while McGonagall was still assigning homework.

“What’s your hurry?” asked Remus, while Peter tried to turn his own rat back into its usual self.

“We need to figure out how to help Sirius not spill the beans,” James said redundantly, turning Pete’s rat back with a flick of his wand and levitating it to its cage.

“If the Aurors see you in the Library, they’ll know you’re up to something,” Remus reminded him, but James shook his head.

“I’m going to see Sluggie, tell Kettleburn I’m not feeling well.”

“I’ll come with you,” Peter offered.

“You’ll study during your free period?” Remus sounded as surprised as James felt.

“I don’t want him to tell everyone about me— about _us_ , I mean. And you’re hopeless with potions. And,” Peter added, “Slug really hates you, James.”

 

* * *

 

The Hogwarts Library was deserted this time of day. Everyone was in class, and most of the upperclassmen with free periods had yet to arrive. Like the school itself, Sirius had developed his own little routine over the past few days.

He had been officially expelled, and he’d have to re-enroll if he was exonerated tomorrow, so he wasn’t allowed a school uniform, for one. He wasn’t even really allowed clothes, just hospital-issue pyjamas and slippers, so getting dressed wasn’t a part of his routine. What was, after breakfast and the customary morning Howlers from Voldemort’s inner circle and his former mother, Poops’ round of healing and getting searched by the new Aurors — changed twice a day so he never knew what to expect — was getting away from the Hospital Wing for the morning.

Sirius limped down the corridor towards the double doors, hands folded behind his back. He hadn’t been shackled again — although it was suggested several times a day — and he hadn’t missed how the Aurors shadowing his every step seemed to be incredibly keen on knowing where his little Black fingers were at all times.

He also suspected they were mimicking his limp.

_Not groovy, dudes._

Sirius wasn’t sure why he humoured them, but he went out of his way not to upset them. In fact, he was privately grateful for the Aurors, in a twisted sort of way. They weren’t friendly, but then, he didn’t need them to be. The only use he’d found in the Aurors was, while they were around, other people didn't dare approach: they were so damn touchy, aiming their wands at him if he so much as breathed wrong. The back of Sirius’ neck had gone numb from prickling in warning every five minutes.

Other than that, he was tired of the whole arrangement: Every step he took, his leg brace squeaked; he hadn’t fixed it, because fixing it would require using his wand, and that would set the Aurors off. If he made a sudden movement, it set the Aurors off. Well, not just sudden movements. _Any_ movement, such as waving at other students or even looking at them… set the Aurors off. Never mind saying hello to anyone. He might have his hands unbound, but he couldn’t do anything with them. Not without making those wand-happy wizards extremely edgy.

 _Well, it’ll be over by tomorrow at least_ , he thought dryly. _One way or the other_.

So, he put up with the — as yet unspoken — requirements of his so-called freedom of the castle, which limited itself to a few hours in the Library between breakfast and lunch. After that, he was confined to the Hospital Wing, because there were too many students around.

Acutely aware of the four sets of eyes following his every move, Sirius breathed in the familiar smell of leather-bound tomes, of dust over old parchment, of polished wood. He took in the sight of hundreds of packed shelves in the half-light of the morning as he walked inside, the squeak in his brace suddenly amplified.

The place radiated an air of enforced quiet, of seclusion, like any sound had no place being here.

He had avoided coming here as a rule, unless it was after dinner to sneak into the Restricted Section. He had never much liked libraries, and now he remembered why, a part of him wondered why he was here at all. Now, he suddenly craved to be in this familiar place, found it _comforting_.

And, Sirius realised, he needed familiar. He needed comforting, he needed silence.

He needed to hide.

Not from the Aurors, who followed him everywhere he went. Even the loo. And they insisted he leave his stall door open every time he had to go, which meant he held it until he felt like he was going to explode. He couldn’t hide from the Aurors any more than he could hide from Madam Pince, the librarian, who fixed him with a glare that told him exactly how unwelcome he was here.

She’d watch him unblinkingly every time, as though he were about to murder her precious books and rip them to shreds or something. But he wasn’t hiding from her, either. Sirius actually welcomed her stare, because it was familiar and thus, comforting in a strange, twisted way.

It was Hogwarts he was hiding from, and the whispers — loud to his ears — he’d started to hear in connection with his name. People wanting attention, or a story, or to cop a feely when he wasn’t paying attention (because for some reason, the Aurors always failed to keep groping chicks away from his rear). He was hiding from Hogwarts’ entire population, and the things they wanted — want want Want WANT WANTWANT _WANT_ — from him. He was hiding from other wants too: Crouch wanted him locked up or better yet, dead. His mother most definitely wanted him dead, preferably in more than one piece. Voldemort wanted him… what’s worse than dead? Reg wanted Sirius to protect him from the Blacks and extended family, just as James wanted him to be strong and fearless, and Remus wanted him to smile again, to pretend it was all okay, because that was how Remus dealt with his monster of a problem and applied it to everything. Pete, so Sirius suspected, wanted something from him too, but he hadn’t stopped to wonder what that could be. Everyone _wanted_ , the Potters, the nurse, his teachers, even the Aurors who clearly wanted to stop babysitting him but couldn’t. Everyone _wanted_ and it was starting to weigh on him worse than the shackles he’d been bound with that other day, a heavy and inescapable burden.

That’s why he ended up in the library, the one place nobody would even imagine he’d even know the way to. Except for James who shared his mind and blood and soul, nobody would look for him here. And he was forbidden from going out into the grounds, from sitting by his favourite tree, so here he was, hiding.

The Potters and Poops might have performed a few miracles putting him back together, and physically, he felt better than he had in months. There was still a long way to go for him, however, Sirius realised, and this final stretch he must go alone.

Which was where he hit a snag.

For what felt like ages, he had been mostly focused on training and getting here at all, and he conveniently let his mind focus — or cling, rather — on that one thing, one single mission.

And now it was done.

The ball was _finally_ , blessedly, out of his hands. The Potters were staying at Dal Riada. Alfie was safe — or as safe as could be managed, under the circumstances. James was healed, not quite inside but he was on his feet and getting attention for his own exploits. Sirius had finally made it to school, and now all he had to do was wait. Wait and heal and hope — or was it just wishful thinking? — for the best, prepare as he might for the worst.

But the Quaffle was fast approaching his team’s goal hoops now. Sirius was — he remembered now — a Beater, not a Chaser or a Keeper or even a Seeker. He’d done his best to bat away the Bludgers that had come his way, but he wasn’t going to be the one who scored, or even ended this match. It wasn’t up to him anymore.

He found it a strangely relieving thought.

What wasn’t relieving by far, was that he had not planned for this, this endless waiting, the Aurors, the wants. And, he found, he had not acquired an ounce of patience throughout this ordeal.

He’d planned for prison. He’d planned for a killing circle, for torture and madness and more pain. He hadn’t even stopped to consider there could be another possibility aside from the worst-case scenario, and he found that it was harder to deal with than the Death Eaters.

At least with them, he had no doubt as to where he stood, didn’t need to dread what they’d do. They’d done it all already.

The Ministry, he found, was a different beast altogether, one that wouldn’t let him breathe easy at all. In his humble — and very private — opinion, they were worse than the Dark Side. Because he didn’t know what they could do, and he was too worn out to try and figure it out.

Still, he did try.

First, he tried to fret about landing in Azkaban on those made-up murder charges. He found he couldn’t bring himself to, even despite the Aurors following him everywhere. One thing he was clear on, was that he hadn't killed that girl. He hadn't helped her at all, either.

"Move along, Black," a harsh voice said, coupled with a push that made him totter forward. "Hurry up."

Dumbledore had told him they were here for his protection.

 _Yeah, right_.

Sirius obediently walked a little faster, turned a corner at random, and started looking at the rows of books around him.

Over the past few days, he had also tried to come to terms with everything that had happened, what he’d been through… with no results. He had beaten the Death Eaters at their own game, and that detracted heavily from the weight of what they’d done. In that regard, the sensation of victory was still too fresh; his fear, his pain, were dulled now.

There was a part of him that touched the raw fibres he’d hidden as deep inside as they would go, as he used to when he poked with his tongue at a tooth about to fall off. He probed at the raw strings on and off, but — no, the tooth wouldn’t come out yet.

It wasn’t ready.

So now, three days later, Sirius just hid, let the dog lick its wounds, let his psyche rearrange itself into whatever it would. He was powerless to direct it anywhere… until the tooth came out. And then there would be blood, a gaping hole, a sense of loss he couldn’t yet process. Maybe, with luck, another tooth would grow back.

Just now, he didn’t know or care if it did or not. All he wanted — _want want want_ — was to be left alone, for all of this to be _over_. He found people suffocating.

“Choo looking for, boyo?”

And apparently he couldn’t really hide from them at all, Sirius noted wryly, realising he was standing in front of a towering bookshelf in the Transfiguration section.

Well. He couldn’t very well go look up ways to counter the effects of Veritaserum under the Aurors’ noses, could he? Now that thought, of the dreadful things that would happen when he was made to take the truth potion, made his stomach churn itself into a very intricate, acidic sort of knot. McAlpin had coached him in a few techniques to avoid answering unless a direct question was put to him, but Sirius knew it wouldn’t be enough. Crouch would interrogate the living daylights out of him, he knew that as well. The Ministry already had reacted in a way that wasn’t close to what the Potters and Dumbledore had anticipated, and now Sirius couldn’t but expect the worst of outcomes, not just for himself, but Alfie, even the Potters.

This, he found, he _could_ worry about with incredible success.

“A book,” he murmured under his breath.

“What book?” Auld Jock had suddenly popped out of nowhere on Tuesday, when Poops put his leg brace back on, and he seemed to have decided to stick around. Even now, the ghostly apparition was reading titles aloud.

“Any book. I don’t care.”

What Sirius found odd at first, was that it seemed like nobody but him could see and hear the ghost. He then decided that he was probably losing his mind, so somehow his brain had come up with an imaginary friend and given it the shape and voice of a long-deceased Victorian serial killer named Barthelemy.

One that kept a running commentary on the Aurors’ every movement and liked to read over his shoulder.

Sirius dragged his noisy leg to a nearby reading table, pulling an old tome on element transfiguration from the shelf as he went.

“Why don’t ye fix that thing, lad?” asked Auld Jock, grimacing at the noise. Sirius shrugged his answer, opened the book.

“Ooh, this ‘un’s interesting,” Auld Jock said appreciatively, drawing Sirius’ attention to the book he had just started flipping through and not even tried to read.

Auld Jock was right. Living Fire Figures did sound like a suitable distraction.

He found that having an imaginary friend wasn’t so bad. At least he wouldn’t be too lonely in Azkaban.

He’d never admit it to James, but he had little confidence in the outcome of the trial. Being an unregistered Animagus alone carried a heavy sentence, and unless he found a way to counter the effects of the truth potion… he was done for already. So was Alfie, and—

“There, that one. Stop, boyo.”

If this was his conscience, Sirius thought, it was spot on. Auld Jock was pointing at a complicated-looking fire spell to make animated, burning creatures that moved on their own.

“Hm. Yeah, I hear you,” Sirius muttered under his breath. “What shall we make?”

“An raccoon,” was the prompt reply. “Make me an raccoon, laddie.”

“What is it with you and raccoons?”

“I like ‘em. They’re good eatin’, too.”

“Maybe later. That lot will just go bonkers if I do it now.”

“Best get used to it, boyo,” said his imaginary friend sagely. “Once they’ve labelled ye as a moid’rer, it’s not goin’ away.”

Sirius privately thought Auld Jock was right.

James thought it could be turned around, but nobody had _ever_ accused a Potter of dark magic. Sirius had spent over a decade trying to turn that particular prejudice around, had grown up on the receiving end of disapproving, judging stares, no matter what he did. The Black Stigma, Andromeda called it. Sirius thought of it more like a stain, one that couldn’t be washed off, ever.

Had he known of the Muggle bloke called Rohrschach who’d become a leading expert on ink blots, he’d perhaps have words to describe what it was a bit better. For now, he’d focus on learning how to make a fire raccoon for his imaginary friend and escape the whole blasted situation for a bit.

 

* * *

 

"You vill send letter, vill you not?"

Yes, Rasmus was still at Little Hangleton come Thursday evening. More specifically, he was still hovering around Voldemort. And his favourite phrase had become: "I vant."

Sweet Morgana, there was no end to what all the man _vanted_.

He still insisted on getting Potter the elder. Voldemort had not yet agreed to it, because Rasmus still hadn't agreed on killing Sirius… and because he was thinking of something suitable to ask the Russian wizard in return.

To be honest, the Dark Lord hadn't bothered to care about the Potters. All he wanted was Gryffindor's heir, and that was James. So, Fleamont Potter needed to be traded in for something of value, now Voldemort had realised he was actually worth something more than a swift death. Fleamont had just become a valuable commodity.

Not that it was on Voldemort's mind right now.

Because Rasmus had also evidently developed a crush on the Black brat. He wanted to wait until Sirius was “in his prime”, until he became almost unstoppable. This was precisely what Voldemort needed to nip in the bud while it was still possible.

So Rasmus had begun to argue that maybe Sirius could be persuaded to join the Dark Lord's ranks (just long enough for him to duel Rasmus, so Voldemort would keep the kid for a handful of years, tops), and at some point, the overgrown Russian brat had decided that sending the little piece of scum a letter could do it.

"If James Potter veel be save for when Black is Death Eater, then he can come for to help."

Whatever that meant.

Voldemort let out a long sigh, picked up his golden quill.

To be fair, he hadn’t thought of _writing_ to the damn kid. And he’d heard his Death Eaters and the boy’s his mother made a point of writing him daily.

"Write letter," Rasmus urged. "But… but you must polite, da? Boy vill _like_ polite. He come and turn Death Eater. In few years, when boy is stronger — you make stronger, yes? — then I come, for to duel. Kharasho?"

Voldemort grit his teeth together. This was a bloody joke!

For days now he had put up with this heir of Rasputin, had had to endure ridicule at his expense, and now he was being told what to write? Told to be _polite_ to the bloody brat?

He didn't know why, but still he didn't hex Rasmus into next week. And no, it wasn't because his polar bear rug had been steamed only yesterday (Nagini felt much better in her new body, and she had wanted to nosh on her dinner there). It was because, as Slytherin's heir, Voldemort knew to be patient. To bide his time, until he achieved what he wanted. He had done it in his youth, after all. He had done it for years afterwards, when he apprenticed old Borgin. He did it often lately too, when his Death Eaters did something stupid.

What was most unsettling however, was how he must do it with this outsider to his cause, when he had truly believed those days were long past. Voldemort resolved to look into Rasmus' family tree. If there was a drop of filthy Muggle blood in him, then maybe he could stop seeing the duellist as a friend. Then it would be easier to kill him, right?

"I vant," Rasmus stated, now by the window where he watched as the afternoon sun bathed the village of Little Hangleton in a golden glow, "I vant to put eyes on Black boy."

"That will not be easy to achieve just now," Voldemort grumbled, even if part of him realised a point had just been scored. It couldn't have been at a worse time, however. Had Rasmus asked for this yesterday, no problem. But now… "The boy's murder trial is in the morning."

"But you can make happen? Not impossible?" Rasmus asked hopefully.

" _Nothing_ is impossible for me."

"I vant to put eyes on boy." Rasmus nodded to himself. "Trial is good. We shall go in morning. Now, you write letter."

 

* * *

 

To everyone's surprise, Thursday evening marked a break in the school’s routine. One that would give students and teachers alike plenty of room for speculation and outright gossip. It started like this:

Sirius was allowed to have his dinner with his friends in the Great Hall. With the Aurors too, of course, who took the added precaution of taking his wand away.

James had just sat down on his usual spot at the Gryffindor table and gotten ready to pick listlessly at his food — he had found nothing about Veritaserum that they didn’t already know, and had spent most of his afternoon talking to Sirius in his head — when the Great Hall quieted so abruptly, it was like someone had cast a Silencing Charm on everyone. James craned his neck in the direction the students were looking as Sirius walked in, and it was nothing like anyone could have expected. 

The grinding sort of squeak of Sirius' leg brace jarred James’ ears in the echoing silence, as almost six hundred sets of eyes fixed on the former Black heir. Peter made a noise deep in his throat that was half terrified squeak, half inward cringe; James found it described the situation perfectly.

Sirius’ eyes roved across the room, fixing here and there on familiar faces. He did not smile or crack a joke as he would have, any other time. James hadn’t thought it would be an issue — Sirius had been stared at by the entire school all his life, after all -- But it _was_. He could see it in the set of his shoulders, in the way he held himself. Sirius was uneasy, and James hoped it wouldn’t unravel into outright “scared”. 

Not that you’d notice, by just looking at him: limp or no limp, Sirius managed to move to his usual spot at the Gryffindor table smoothly enough, but the most obvious change was lost on no-one: Sirius looked more like his father than ever, solemn, wary, powerful. He might have been one of them once, just another wizard kid at school, but no longer. He looked older, somehow, and — James would never have thought to use the word in connection with Sirius of all people — imposing. For an instant, James understood how the rest of the world saw his friend, understood why they were freaking out like they were over him.

“Evening,” said Sirius to the Great Hall at large, his voice echoing off the walls. “Sorry I’m late, had to show my minders around. Big castle, y'know.” He gestured at the four Aurors flanking him and flashed them all — Nina — a grin.

It was like something broke. That had sounded and looked like the Sirius they all knew, and it was like the spell they all had been enthralled by dissolved into nothing. Only James wasn’t fooled, but he knew better than to comment.

As the Great Hall exploded in sound again, Sirius reached James’ side and sat down as close to Nina as the arrangement of the benches would allow, a schoolboy again, despite the Aurors sitting on either side of him. One stood behind him, and the fourth went to guard the doors.

“How’s Hogwarts been treating you?” Sirius asked, looking entirely too glad to see her. She hadn’t been allowed to visit him, and James had had to play owl for the two — and scores of other students wanting to send Sirius notes — for days now.

“I didn’t get eaten by any walls,” was the flippant answer.

Sirius reached for some mashed potatoes and a steak and kidney pie, acting for all the world like nothing was the matter, and while the buzz of the Great Hall was much louder than usual, a lot of the tension James had felt building up had faded.

He laughed and joked around with Sirius and his friends, despite the knot in his stomach that wouldn’t loosen, no matter what he told himself: James hadn’t missed why Sirius was allowed to join them for dinner. It could be the last time they had a chance to sit here, together. Sirius clearly was making the most of it, even though he sort of picked at his food and ate little, and didn’t even seem to mind when people finished their dinners and all but flocked to the Gryffindor table.

James did the same.

It was nearly nine o’clock, and thus, curfew, when the next disturbance came. James didn’t notice it until yet another hush washed over the Hall. This one, though, was filled with trepidation.

An Augurey sang its mournful, chilling song as it circled languidly around the Great Hall once, then landed in front of Sirius with a silent flap of wings. The bird regarded them all disdainfully for a moment, during which Sirius regarded it right back. Took the letter from its claws. Waved the bird off like someone shooing flies.

“Who’s it from?” James wanted to know at once. So, apparently, did the whole school. Necks were craning towards them once again.

“You know,” Sirius replied tightly, ripping open the seal before James could get a proper look in and skimming the letter. James stared at his brother, but his expression betrayed nothing.

"Does anyone have a spare bit of parchment and a quill?" Sirius asked no-one in particular.

Instantly, there was a scramble for the said items, and Sirius was suddenly in possession of a handful of quills, several inkwells, and a stack of parchment, despite the Aurors’ protests.

"Ta," he said, and chuckled. "I need just the one, thanks."

While the Aurors shoo'd kids away from Sirius and everyone was trying to catch a glimpse of his letter, Sirius scribbled his response with a smirk and a downright evil glint on his face.

“Time’s up, Black,” said one of the Aurors, a bloke built like a Muggle fridge James vaguely remembered graduating in his first year. Sirius put the quill down and got up at once.

“See you tomorrow,” he said to James, even as the Headmaster was reaching his table, no doubt to ask about the contents of his letter.  “Could you mail that for me, Professor? These four aren't really accommodating. Night, everyone.”

There was a general scramble for the letter the instant Sirius cleared the Gryffindor bench, and despite his reflexes, Dumbledore snatched it away before James could grab it.

_Hogwarts School, 02.12.76_

_Not-so-dear Lord Thingy,_ the letter read. James frowned, reading over Dumbledore’s shoulder as the Headmaster reached across the table to pick up the scroll Sirius had received.

_I have indeed received your letter. It was impossible to miss, since it was delivered by a bloody Augurey that looked so sad, it seemed as though it was about to announce its own death._

_I have read the contents of your letter too, but frankly, I am at a loss for a suitable answer to your gracious invitation to join what you call the Dark Side and I call the Mindless Morons Club. You might want me to bend over and kiss your rear with a “yes” or a “Yes, thank you,” but all I can think of, is this: you can kiss mine pure-blooded arse. Call me coarse, but I can’t think of a better or more fitting response. I would appreciate it very much if you and your Munchers stopped your correspondence, as it is very annoying to me, and I would hate to have to warn you that I can be very annoying too. Which, I suppose, I just did._

_Please die soon so we can all return to our lives._

_Sirius Black, Esq._

 

* * *

 

 _Padfoot, are you asleep?_   James' voice erupted in Sirius’ head a few hours later. It was now way past curfew, and he had just managed to get himself into a most satisfactory brooding mindframe, which promised to keep him up all night.

_I was until now._

_Liar._

_Yeah. I can't sleep._

_I figured. Me either. It'll go alright, you know._

_How do you know?_

_Because you didn't kill anyone, man._ James, the eternal optimist, sounded so certain. Sirius didn't have the heart to contradict him.

_Crouch is sure I did. So's Fudge. He's going to be the prosecutor.  
_

_They got nothing on you, Pads._ James was silent for a few moments, which Sirius decided to use to contemplate how truly dismal his situation was. And then, James asked, _What's eating at you?_

_Alfie._

_What with him?_

_If -- when -- they give me Veritaserum, I'll spill the beans. About Padfoot, and Alfie, and your parents. And then the lord Thingy will hear of it. And Aunt Elladora. And my mum._

_Elladora is still alive?_

_Yeah, she didn't drop dead when you stopped going to her parties._

_I thought her ghost was haunting Alfie. She's what 125 or something now?_

  1. _She'll kill Alfie before you can say “oops”._



_I…_

_I can't think of anything,_ Sirius wailed in his head. He rolled onto his side with much squeaking of his brace and buried himself under his blankets.

"Keep it down!" A voice snapped nearby.

“Sorry,” Sirius muttered aloud.

_Are those thugs giving you a hard time?_

_Could be worse._

_Gah, Pads, I’m sorry. I can’t think of anything to do about it._

_Sadly, that’s a common occurrence._ Sirius was joking, but James was too worried to retaliate and let this conversation devolve into banter.

_I just wish there were something I could do._

_Me as well, Prongs._

There was a silence, during which Sirius buried himself deeper in his covers, but he was no nearer finding an answer now than he had been a few weeks ago. With the trial looming in just a few hours, he was exhausted, and a terrible sort of dread had settled in the pit of his stomach. Ever since the thought struck him that he’d be forced to tell the Wizengamot everything about Alfie, the Potters, and Padfoot under Veritaserum, he was sure he’d be sent to prison tomorrow.

 _I've got it!_ Startled Sirius from his thoughts, which centred mainly on his fears about the wizarding prison, and would he be allowed any visits?

_What have you got?_

_An oath!_

_Huh?_

_We can't test it now, but, if you swear a binding oath instead of telling them stuff, you could try to say you swore not to say._

_You might have something there_ , Sirius sat up on his bed, hope suddenly rekindled. He feared it would not help, but he clung to the notion desperately anyway.

_Of course I do, I'm a genius._

_One good idea does not a genius make_ , Sirius responded. _But how will we do it? They'd never let you in here._

 _They will. Block yourself off a sec_.

Sirius was too much on edge to argue, but he closed off his block… a little too late. Pain shot from his wrist all the way to his shoulder so suddenly and so sharply, he let out a yelp. Whatever James had done, it bloody hurt. Instantly, his curtains were yanked aside.

"What's the matter now?" one of the Aurors snapped, towering over him and looking ready to hex him if he didn't like the answer.

"Nothing," Sirius lied. "I rolled on my leg."

The Auror — to Sirius just a looming shadow — looked quite ready to hex him anyway.

"Not one sound from you, or I'll shackle you to the bed."

"Okay," said Sirius. He just wanted the wizard gone. "Sorry, sheesh."

That was clearly the wrong thing to say. Suddenly, he was flat on his back, with manacles around his feet and wrists. The chains weren’t too short to prevent him from moving altogether, but he couldn’t roll over… and of course, he wanted nothing more all of a sudden.

"Don't say I didn't warn you." The Auror stomped off, with a parting, "and don't think I can't make it worse for you. One more sound and you'll find out what I mean."

Sirius didn't want to find out. He was already miserable, and to add to his bad luck, now he couldn't have slept even if he'd wanted to.

Suddenly the hospital wing doors burst open, startling him from what promised to become a most satisfactory sulk. A confusion of voices assaulted his ears, as though a group of people had barged in.

“Madam Pomfrey!” Remus’ voice yelled, sounding frightened. Instantly, Sirius opened the link to James, from whom he could sense a sharp pain and lightheadedness. What had just happened? “Madam Pomfrey! _Help_!”

He could see through James’ eyes how Remus was not even exaggerating, caught a look at the approaching Aurors, who were asking what the matter was and getting a stammered response from James.

“I got jammed in, ow— _ow_ , Merlin’s _balls_ , it _hurtssssss_.”

“There’s a moving wall on the seventh floor,” Remus was explaining hurriedly. “It jammed shut on him as he was walking past.”

“What the hell were you doing out of your Common Room? There’s a curfew!”

“That’s the thing, we had— we had detention until late,” Remus explained. That was horseshit, Sirius knew. Five minutes ago, James had been in the Gryffindor Common Room like the good little boy he wasn't.

“You shouldn’t be here—” the Auror started, but Pomfrey’s arrival put an end to whatever he was about to say.

“Let me through, move aside, O’Malley. Shift, I’m the Healer here, let me see.”

 

* * *

 

 _She’s giving you Skele-Gro?!_ Sirius was scandalised.

_Yeah, in a sec. I hope she hurries up, you know how it takes hours to kick in properly. I want full use of both my arms in case I have to bust you out of prison tomorrow._

**_This_ ** _was your genius idea?_

_Don’t worry, Pads._

_You got your entire arm smashed to bits!_

_It’s worth it. I’m here, aren’t I?_ James replied flippantly. He sounded a bit woozy, and Sirius feared he'd pass out from the pain.

_But…_

_And they can’t kick me out tonight._

_But…_

_Besides, I’ll be right as rain in the morning._

_You’re insane_ , Sirius stated fondly. He appreciated the hell out of James right now, even though he wished his best friend and brother hadn’t gotten himself hurt, he couldn’t but be deeply grateful for him. They might have a mindlink that worked a treat, but having James close by was incredibly comforting. Even if Sirius couldn't see him.

 _The voices in my head would agree with you,_ said James placidly. The pain potion had kicked in, at least.

“Oy, your mate’s got hisself inter one hell of a fix,” Auld Jock established from James’ bed a few feet away. “His arm’s all crushed flat.”

“I know,” Sirius whispered as low as he dared. He didn’t say anything else, both for fear the Auror would come and body-bind him or something, and because he didn’t want to miss what was going on beyond his curtains: Poops had just arrived and sent the Aurors to the other end of her ward, to let her work. Incidentally, she had put James on his usual bed, next to Sirius’ own. Now, if she would only open the curtains… Sirius would be all set.

“All right, let us see what you came off with this time, shall we?” the nurse said kindly. Sirius got a clear image of her ample bosom from James' eyes. There was some rustling, and then—

“ _OW_!” James howled out, so loud Sirius’ echoing wince went unheard.

“Oh dear, oh dear,” said Poops, carefully binding James’ arm up like a taco. “I’m sorry. Here, you’ll feel better with this here… and this other one, just take it in one gulp, there’s a lad…”

 _So, you’re in your usual bed, right?_   James wanted to know in Sirius’ head a moment later. The pain potion had kicked in, and he could think again.

_Yeah…_

_Good. I’ll ask her to let me see you, I bet she’ll even open the curtains for us. Maybe even keep the Aurors away._

_What if she doesn’t?_

_Leave it to me, Pads. I’ve got the cloak here. You can come over, and—_

_Yeah, sorry, I can’t_. 

 _They tied you up?!_   James sounded outraged.

_Yuh._

_Bastards_ , James spat. Sirius could hear him whispering with Poops, who let out a surprised little laugh.

_Yep._

_Okay, Black. Look lively, and moan that your leg hurts._

Sirius let out a groan, his chains clinking as he tried to roll over.

“I’ll be with you in a second, Mr. Black,” Poops said over the sputtering James, who was getting his Skele-Gro.

 _That was convincing_ , James wheezed.

_I’m not pretending._

_And the Skele-Gro is **foul**._

_You shouldn’t have gotten your arm turned into a pancake._

_Hahaha, true._

_Dude, you’re stoned._

_Yeah. Now I understand you a whole lot better._

His curtains parted, and now Sirius could see James on the next bed at last, pale as a ghost, propped up against a million pillows, a formless something in a sling across his chest.

 _You’re an idiot_ , Sirius established, touched.

 _I love you too, Pads_.

“Tell me where it hur— what’s this?” Poops asked, her expression suddenly changing from kind to furious, as she spotted Sirius’ current cause for discomfort. The next moment, she had wheeled around towards the Aurors. “Who of you utter _clodpoles_ did _this_?!” She gestured at the chains, which were gone from Sirius’ bed and in her hands the next moment, as she stormed off to the far end of the ward to yell at the Aurors.

“Look at that,” said James, grinning dazedly at the now cowering Aurors across the room. “She provided the distraction all her own, and now Padfoot is freee!”

“We should really stop calling her Poops,” Sirius agreed, watching her rant shrilly at the enormous wizards.

“We’ll submit it to a vote,” James conceded, turning to Sirius now. “But first, your binding oaths, which we don’t want them to see. Now, you’ll have to do a couple of things for me, so take the cloak… And shut your blasted leg up.”

 

* * *

 

“This,” Voldemort established grumpily, “is the _stupidest_ thing I’ve ever done.” He was standing in the lobby of the Ministry of Magic, a flask of Polyjuice Potion in his pocket, some stupid witch’s wand in his hand, his patience shot. And _damn_ — he never thought walking around in heels was so difficult. How did witches do it? Why did they do it?

Of course, he _could_ have gotten a hold of a _male_ wizard to polyjuice into… If that damned crazy Russian hadn’t gone and grabbed a couple off the street leading to the Ministry entrance and cut off a handful of the couple’s hair, added them to the flasks they had brought, and downed the one containing the wizard’s hair before the Dark Lord could react.

By the time Voldemort realised _what_ he was turning into, it was too late already.

_Damn it._

At least he had killed the pair while Rasmus turned around to change into the wizard’s robes, so he felt a little better.

Just a little.

Things couldn't be worse, however: there was a run in his pantyhose and these damned heels were uncomfortable and wobbly, and not for the last time, the Dark Lord wondered if Black was worth all this bother. He could just poison him, use the Snape kid for that. That smelly child would jump at the chance, he was sure. Grumbling, Voldemort followed Rasmus into the Ministry of Magic, wishing he could just turn the man into a newt, and listing all his offences for later perusal and retaliation.

All that ended, however, when he and Rasmus crossed the lobby of the Ministry on their way to Courtroom One, where a crowd had parted to reveal the very people he’d spent so long trying to kill.

There was Sirius Black, at last, and maybe it was the woman he was wearing, but Voldemort could appreciate fully how that old Potter bint had dressed the brat up for the occasion. He couldn't deny the boy cleaned up nicely, and his keen eyes didn't miss how Euphemia Potter had taken care to put him into an elegant double-breasted greatcoat, to warm the Wizengamot up to him. It was working, Voldemort noted: the brat looked the way he should: the proud heir of an ancient House of the purest blood. Or ready to captain a ship at Her Majesty's leisure.

Heels clacking on the marble floor, the Dark Lord hurried daintily along to catch up with Thanatovich’s longer stride, and suddenly felt a surge of self-satisfaction that erased every bit of suffering he’d endured at the hands of his Russian guest.

“That’s Black,” he pointed out in a falsetto, deciding he would only get them both caught if he didn't fulfill his role as Martha Riordan convincingly. “And the Potters, all yours, honey. Yours, if you take care of Black and bring me the other boy, the messy-haired one.”

Rasmus Thanatovich was seizing up what he was seeing. A hungry sneer spread across the features of the late Derek Riordan, Magical Law Enforcement official, First Class.

“Komm,” Rasmus prompted, taking Voldemort’s arm and approaching the Potters for closer examination. They didn't notice, busy being accosted by Bartemius Crouch.

“I vill like, I think. Ve shall see.”

“I am sure you will, darling,” Voldemort trilled, smiling sweetly at some wizards and witches who nodded at them in passing. “Let us find a good seat.”

“You sure he not vill sent to Azkaban?” Rasmus asked in a low voice.

“Not in a million years,” Voldemort chirped brightly. “Not unless I send him there, my love.”

“Good. Azkaban not good place for boy.”

"That is one thing we both agree on."

Arm in arm, the Riordans made their way to Courtroom One.

 

* * *

 

“You’ll be fine, darling,” said Mrs. P. Her voice was trembling slightly, but she was trying to hide it, trying to be reassuring. Sirius forced out a tiny smile that died the next instant.

“Will they let me say goodbye later?” he asked her instead, eyes fixed on the approaching figures. “Because if they won’t, then…” Sirius took a deep breath. “I want to thank you all, for… for everything.”

“You won’t need to say goodbye at all, Padfoot. We’re leaving the same way we came here,” James assured him, but his tone did nothing to mask the dread he was all but radiating. Sirius chose to ignore that last, his eyes fixed on the wizards and witches walking towards them outside the courtroom corridor. Something deep in his gut told him it wouldn’t be as easy as all that.

Crouch was at the head of the group, looking wickedly excited. Behind him, twelve Aurors towered taller than him, their wands at their sides, dark red robes billowing despite the lack of wind. They came to a halt by the wand-weighing booth, where the sleepy wizard Sirius had seen a few times on his visits to the Ministry had been replaced by a gigantic, grim-faced Hit Wizard in navy blue that made Sirius feel less like a Gryffindor and more like a six-year old at the dentist's surgery.

“Come,” said Mr. P., clapping a hand reassuringly on Sirius’ shoulder. “The sooner we get this over with, the better.”

Sirius couldn’t but agree.

After a week spent waiting and fretting, he wished it would all be over _now_. However, he couldn’t share in Mr. P’s optimism. Out of them all, James’ dad was the only one who didn’t radiate nerves, but a smoldering, barely-contained sort of anger. He, like James, had never doubted the outcome of the trial, while Sirius was already picturing himself in Azkaban.

Despite it all, he allowed the old wizard to usher him towards the wand-weighing booth, the ever-present Aurors who had guarded him at Hogwarts echoing his every step.

“Hurry along, quick as you like,” Crouch was waiting for them by the booth, a feral grin plastered on his face. “You know the procedure, Black, move along now.”

Swallowing dryly, Sirius pulled his wand from his pocket.

The Aurors all aimed their wands at him. The air was suddenly thick with magic, and Sirius was acutely aware of the silence around him. The bustle of the Ministry in the early hours had ceased as everyone, it seemed, had stopped to watch.

“You’ll want to hand that over,” said the Hit Wizard in a deep voice. Sirius suddenly felt even smaller, not in the least because the wizard was taller even than old Angus, with the darkest skin he’d ever seen. Sirius obeyed, feeling like he was relinquishing his very freedom with that one motion. The Aurors did not lower their wands, however.

The Hit Wizard took the wand, examined it, placed it on a scale.

“Lignum Vitae and Dragon Heartstring, 11 1/2 inches,” he declared in his deep drone, a few moments later. “Registered to Sirius Orion Soren Pendragon Black on November 3, 1966.” The words rang ominously in Sirius’ ears, as though he were already being sentenced.

“Oh, I will certainly enjoy breaking this wand,” Crouch crooned. Around him, it seemed to Sirius as though the Aurors were holding back laughs.

"You can always try," Mr. P said through gritted teeth. "Others have already failed."

 _Maybe_ , Sirius thought miserably, _I’m not imagining things_.

“Don't think I won't manage," said Crouch cockily. "Any other wands we need to worry about?” Crouch’s tone was triumphant, but Sirius didn’t get to wonder why. He shook his head.

“Good," said Crouch placidly. "Clap him in irons.”

Suddenly Mr. P’s hand was gone from his shoulder, and Sirius had fallen on his knees with a protesting squeak of his leg brace and a gasp that was more alarmed than pained. Around his forearms, heavy manacles had appeared, but it wasn’t their weight that pulled him down: they were scorching hot, sapping his energy like a vacuum. Suddenly it was as if his head weighed a ton.

“So, Black,” added Crouch curiously, "are you a leftie or a rightie?”

“I… a, a leftie,” Sirius answered before his brain could catch up with him. The next instant he wondered, “Why?”

Crouch ignored him, turned to the Hit Wizard instead.

“Break his arm. At the wrist.”

 _“What_?”

Sirius’ panicked squeak was drowned out by all three Potters’ voices. James was shocked, but Betty and Coop were furious.

“I will not do such a thing,” the enormous wizard boomed.

“You will do as you’re told, Tiberius.” Crouch’s tone was warning. “It’s protocol. No wand arm, no magic.”

“On convicted murderers, yes,” was the answer. “This is just a child. If you want to break his wrist, you will have to do it yourself.”

Crouch huffed, but to Sirius’ growing dismay, he seemed quite ready to do it. He yanked Sirius’ bound hands up, then raised his wand over his head. Sirius held his breath, bracing himself the best he could. A corner of his mind closed off his link to James, but there was nothing else he could possibly do.

“Don’t you dare!” Mr. P. erupted, stepping forward. “Have you gone completely mad, man?”

“Step aside, it’s _protocol_!” Crouch shouted.

“Not in his case,” the Hit Wizard boomed, coming to stand next to Sirius, who was busy trying to get the ground to swallow him. “Bring down that wand, and I will have you arrested for brutality on a minor.”

“Have it your way, Shacklebolt,” Crouch looked like he had swallowed a lemon.

All Sirius could think was, _shit oh shit, oh shit oh shitohshitohshit._ Even his mind’s voice was barely a squeak.

 “Your department head will hear of this. You there, take him away. We have wasted enough time, and we shouldn’t keep _them_ waiting.” He flashed the Potters a nasty grin, snapped his fingers. The dozen Aurors who had been standing by hauled Sirius up and half dragged, half carried him away.

 

* * *

 

James watched the troupe of Aurors drag his best friend away, in a horrified sort of shock. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, was it? For weeks, the few times he and Sirius had discussed the plans for when he returned to the world of the living, James had reassured his newly-acquired brother, certain his parents and Dumbledore could protect him, telling him not to fret, that it would be all right, because how could it not?

Sirius would then mutter something about Friday the 13th not being a coincidence, that dates had power. James had called him a superstitious twat.

How very _wrong_ he’d been all along.

Sirius had been right to worry, and yet, despite the Aurors that had tailed his best friend for the last week, James hadn’t fully understood why Sirius felt so uneasy, until now.

Sirius should never have come back.

 _Not to this_.

_I should’ve done more to help._

James swallowed thickly, tried to connect to Sirius as he was dragged away down a side door next to Courtroom One. But he had blocked him off, and James now dreaded to think why. What he’d seen of Crouch just now had made his blood run cold, and it finally sank in, how very real the danger was.

“Come on, son,” his Dad bit out furiously, as James stared, dumbstruck, at the door Sirius had vanished behind. He felt a wave of bitter cold wash over him, a shot of deep sadness. “We have to put a stop to this. _Now_. Crouch will pay for this, the bloody _bastard_.”

James hurried after his irate father, who was jogging to catch up with his incensed mother. Betty Potter had caught on before they all had and was storming into the courtroom demanding to see the Chief Warlock _NOW_ —  when all three Potters froze in their tracks. In fact, everyone stopped short when they heard it.

The sound went right through James, like a punch to the gut that hit him so hard, he couldn’t breathe. It might have started off as a “No”, but it soon morphed into a howl of utter terror and despair. Part of him couldn’t believe Sirius capable of making such a sound. But he _was_. Whatever Crouch was doing, it was much, much worse than a broken arm. And Sirius was begging for it to stop.

“CALL THEM OFF!” James’ Mum shouted hysterically to the shocked Wizengamot in Courtroom One, barely making herself heard over Sirius’ terrified screams that trailed to them from somewhere out of sight. “CALL OFF THE DEMENTORS!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC.
> 
> A/N: Thanks for reading!
> 
> Next Up: The trial comes to a head and it’s rather worse than you’d think, Rasmus acquires a new hobby, Sirius does a strip dance, Voldemort questions his gender identity and gets a penpal, and McGonagall is concerned about the lack of pamphlets on a certain topic.


	23. Black Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: For some reason, the Dementors hijacked like, half the trial. Oddly, they’re not the absolute worst thing happening here. We get a taster of Wizarding justice, Rasmus is a good bad guy, Voldemort decides to start scrap-booking, Sirius is having a terrible day, and McGonagall is torn over the outcome. Oh, and, an intriguing development at Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: HP isn’t mine. My computer is HP. My computer is mine. So, I own HP. Nothing makes sense anymore.

  

* * *

 

 

Part Twenty-Three: Black Day

 

* * *

 

The Wizengamot _didn’t_ call off the Dementors.

They did, however, demand a Silencing Charm be placed on the doors to the prisoner area while they got ready. Apparently, they found Sirius' tortured screams _distracting_.

No matter how much the Potters protested, all they achieved was to get a warning. One more word to disrupt proceedings, and they would all be kicked out of the courtroom.

James and his parents were ashen-faced when they were directed by red-robed Aurors to sit on the front row of the stands and Sirius' voice was replaced by a daunting sort of silence.

While he waited, James gave the courtroom a once-over: The Wizengamot were seated in four rows placed in a semicircle, like a Greek amphitheatre. To the left and right of the purple-robed witches and wizards, separated from the interrogation area by a solid oak railing, were the stands, for the witnesses along the front row, for the curious along the rest of the chamber. Twenty Aurors were positioned along the railing, their backs to the crowds now hurrying to find a seat. James saw Rita Skeeter and her photographer arguing with an elderly couple over front row seats; Ministry department heads were unwrapping bars of chocolate, and, two rows behind him and his parents, a couple was keeping a running commentary of the goings-on. What set them apart from the rest was that the witch kept giggling, and the wizard sounded foreign, Bulgarian maybe, or Russian. It was a regular peanut gallery. Nobody seemed to give a flying fig about Sirius at all. They were here just for the gossip.

James looked down, his stomach in knots, his eyes burning. He wished they’d hurry up and let Sirius out, because they'd _have to_ sometime, right? He couldn’t hear a thing, but he’d realised that the cold and deep-seated despair he was feeling must come from the Dementors themselves, who weren’t even anywhere near him. How much worse it must be for Sirius, he didn’t dare wonder about.

“I thought Alastor said there wouldn’t be any Dementors,” his Mum said in a shaking voice. Out of them all, she had known what was going on before any of them did.

“I wonder what is going on,” his Dad gritted out. “I can’t see Alastor anywhere.”

“Do you think something happened to him?” James asked in a small voice. With things going as badly as they already had, he was more than inclined to believe Sirius’ superstitions, and he sensed this was only the start of a very bad day.

“We’d have heard by now, wouldn’t we?”

His father’s question went unanswered. Just then, Dumbledore arrived, his expression drawn with worry. He strode down the central open area, headed straight for the Potters.

“I brought you this,” he said for a greeting, and handed them three enormous bars of Honeyduke’s Best. “Crouch changed the roster at the last minute and sent most of the senior Aurors on assignment this morning. The Aurors in charge of security are rookies loyal to Crouch,” the Hogwarts Head told them in a low voice. “He’s confirmed Cornelius Fudge, from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, to be his Prosecutor’s aide during the hearing.”

“But _Alastor_ —”

“Alastor is trying to get them to send the Dementors away. He might not manage, he has already been written up for insubordination.”

“Is Sirius alright?” asked James’ Mum, voicing James’ own burning question, even if he _knew_ his best friend was anything but all right, he hoped Sirius was no longer screaming.

And was _this_ all he had to hope for? That Sirius wasn’t being actively tortured while he sat here, his hands tied?

Dumbledore shrugged his shoulders, “I am sorry, Betty. I don’t know. Alastor will come along in a few moments, he might know how Sirius is faring. For now, all we can do is hope for the best. I _am_ sorry.”

Dumbledore bowed to them, adjusted his plum-coloured robes, and went to take his seat at the head of the Wizengamot.

James stared at the large bar of chocolate in his hand.

“You should have some of that, darling,” his mother told him, but then she drew him close. “It’s the only thing that helps against _them_.”

He didn’t have to ask who _they_ were, didn't dare ask how his mother knew _they_ were there before the rest of them did. James had come to realise there was a lot he didn't know about his parents — he knew his Dad had fought against Grindelwald (both times), but he had never really bothered with the details. He'd grown up hearing the war stories, but it was clear he didn't know them all.

Sadly, now wasn't the time or place to ask. He'd have to ask later… and hopefully Sirius would be by his side to hear them too. Instead, he buried his face in his mother's shoulder. He couldn't think of anything to say to make her feel better, because right now, there simply wasn't anything.

Each moment that passed, was one more moment Sirius was being tortured, and there was nothing he or his parents could do about it.

"They're taking so long," he muttered.

"Too long. Where the hell is Alastor?" Betty was furious, staring at the double doors as though willing them to burst into flame.

As if on cue, they flew open — a cold blast slapped James' face, a shock of deep sadness gripped him, and his ears suddenly filled with Sirius' screaming. But not a sound was forthcoming through the open doors; what was going on? The only thing that issued from the prisoner doors was an irate Moody.

James shook his head to clear it, but it was as though the cold went into him and clung, pulling forth a nightmare he couldn't escape, one that should never have been allowed to happen.

Someone — his Mum, he later noticed — pushed a bit of chocolate into his mouth. Warmth erupted inside him, Sirius' screams shut off abruptly a moment later.

"What…?" James stammered stupidly, but his Mum just held on to him, her attention on Moody, who was stomping towards them.

"Insane!" He shouted, now speaking up at Dumbledore and the Wizengamot. "This is excessive! Fudge won't let us disengage the Dementors, it's getting out of hand! I demand the Wizengamot make Cornelius Fudge stand down, this isn't even his department!"

"I have appointed Cornelius to be my prosecutor's aide during this trial," Crouch snapped, every bit as loud as Moody. "He is therefore entitled and empowered to restrain the prisoner as he sees fit. It is not something for the MLE to bother with."

"What are you implying, Barty?" snapped Moody. "As head of the Auror Division —"

"You're out of line. Now go to your post before this court holds you in contempt!" Crouch's eyes were flashing.

"It's you they should hold in contempt!" Moody barked. "You've got a _kid_ in there, not a Death Eater!"

"That's enough!" Gwendolyn McPherson, senior member of the Wizengamot, yelled now. "We will not have this court turned into a circus!”

“There are rules," Crouch shouted back, "and in cases of cold murder and wilful exposure of the Magical Community to the Muggles—"

"This is a clear case of self-defence!" James' Dad was in the mix now too, and he made a compelling case for Sirius, telling them what he had done in Godric's Hollow, how he'd fought against the Dark Side and alerted Hogwarts—

However, James didn't get to hear any of it, because just then, a wave of the most horrid cold blasted into the room.

The din in the courtroom had drawn the Dementors in, despite Moody's yelled demands for them to be removed.

The argument ceased as the cold swept through the room, bringing with it darkness and memories of death, of loss, of destruction.

_"Oi, Potter!"_ James felt himself whipping around, recognised the seventh-floor corridor near the Gryffindor Common Room… and there was _Snape_ , his wand aloft, issuing a spell that made him yelp when it hit him square in the chest.

James was caught in a whirlwind of emotion. He relived the time he'd felt his first Cruciatus, through Sirius' link, and his Dad hadn't been lying — the memory of pain sent him reeling. James felt his muscles seize up, Voldemort's triumphant face radiating the particular brand of hatred bestowed on Sirius by the Dark Side and falling on James like a sack of bricks. James' heart tore as he recalled the worst moments of his recent past, without the resolve and stiff upper lip he'd maintained all that time.

As if to ram the point home further, the first thing he saw was Sirius bleeding from what James had learnt were deep gashes all over him, because _he_ 'd been stupid enough to fall for the Death Eater pretending to be Sirius. A hillside covered in snow, getting soaked in red where Sirius was dying. Sirius, telling him to _, "go that way, I'll go that way… they'll catch up with me over there…"_ and to, _"go home, James."_ But it didn’t stop there. He relived all those times Sirius would stop breathing as they were trying to heal him, every time he had screamed in his sleep, that other time, when he hadn’t made it back from his own memories…

Every time James had felt powerless and weak, every time he'd drawn a blank for what to do, every time he'd felt he was failing his friend (and there were oh, so many), rolled together into a kaleidoscope of despair and a sadness so deep, it sent him out of the chair and onto the floor. Guilt washed over him, all-consuming, inescapable… ultimately hopeless.

And then… Gone was the courtroom with its squabbling crowd, gone was James himself for a few moments, when he found himself suddenly in Sirius' shoes, trapped by a family that had failed him every bit as James himself felt he had. While the Blacks had gone out of its way to put him down, just because he wasn't a mindless craven like the lot of them, James had sensed what was happening for _years_ and done _nothing_ to fix it. He hadn't tried hard enough, _this_ … this could be laid at his feet…

"Bring in the prisoner!" James heard over the visions of his father, his skin a mass of red and blue and purple – he wouldn't wake up for what felt like ages, no matter what he did — and a corner of James’ mind knew, _knew_ that these weren't memories he had lived through. They were bleeding through to him from Sirius' link and, just like Sirius, he was hopeless to fight them.

His mother was shaking him, her eyes boring into his while her hands closed around his arms like vices that yanked him back to reality and anchored him there. Her mouth was moving, but he couldn't hear her past the rush in his ears. What was the point, anyhow? This would never end, nothing would ever get better. He'd never again feel happy or cheerful… And, didn't he deserve this? Wasn't _he_ to blame for… things?

"… chocolate, open your mouth, James, please."

James shook his head again to try and clear it, but it helped little. He felt cold from the inside out, despondent and forlorn.

Warmth shot into him suddenly, and it was as though he could breathe again, a chunk of creamy sweet chocolate dissolving in his mouth.

"Wha…?" He started to ask, but his mother only crammed more of the Honeydukes bar into him.

"Chew it, honey. And have more whenever you feel that awful cold."

James obeyed, realising he'd been caught in the Dementors' slipstream, as it were. He took a bite of his chocolate, hands shaking so badly he nearly dropped it.

A few moments later, his vision cleared, the rush of voices in his ears grew faint, and he could think again.

His attention went to the source of the biting cold, but what he saw was even worse: He saw eight Dementors slowly glide out of the doors. Four of them were carrying something — Sirius, he realised with a pang — who was the only clearly visible figure in the blackness they were spreading. Sirius was completely stiff, to the point James thought someone had petrified him, but what really held him in place was a crippling sort of fear. James could see that, because Sirius was glowing; he looked like he was steaming light, which floated ceaselessly into the Dementors' hoods.

The chocolate James had just swallowed began churning acid paths in his gut.

But it got worse, when one of the Dementors touched Sirius’ face. The sight turned James' stomach, his worst memories paused for the moment. None could really contend with what he was seeing now: Sirius was shaking from head to toe, and James saw he wasn't just shivering — Sirius was convulsing, his eyes open wide, his mind stuck in a whirlwind of his worst nightmares.

Everyone went suddenly silent… Then the courtroom erupted in sound. Moody and Crouch and the Potters and the Aurors were shouting at each other, to do something, to send the Dementors away, and James’ mind could only go _Nonononononoooo_ …

 

* * *

 

The courtroom was plunged into darkness and a most enjoyable deathly cold, ending the mind-numbing argument at the dais quite abruptly.

For that alone, the Dementors should be commended; the venerable lot down there were more concerned with who had the legal high ground than over doing what was right, and in doing so, they were letting their precious prisoner get dangerously close to death. For a lot who claimed they'd never join him, they were quite adept at causing grief.

Or maybe Black had just ticked them all off too. He was good at that.

The Dark Lord sat back in his chair, happily surprised because he was actually finding the whole experience a welcome break. Heels, he mused, weren't so hard to walk in once you got used to the balance needed, and he did enjoy the feeling of his new body. Maybe he'd make a habit out of it; his Death Eaters needn't find out at all.

They'd never expect being watched by him as a witch, after all.

He fixed the run in his stocking as the chamber went completely dark. This didn't bother him either, in fact, he relished the mounting sensation of dread the witches and wizards present gave off. It was so like the way they reacted to him, after all, and it amused him to no end that they had no idea he was here, among them. He could kill them all right now, if he fancied.

Only, he wasn’t in the mood just now, more interested in watching what the Dementors were doing to that brat who had defied him for over a decade.

He wouldn't ever have thought of it, but what he saw when the group of Dementors floated into the chamber was an eye-opener: he had, incredibly, just discovered a sure-fire way to get Black under his thumb. His eyes pierced the darkness with ease, so while everyone else in the courtroom was momentarily blinded, he could see quite clearly what they could not: the Black brat was quite effectively incapacitated by the Dementors, immobilised better than any amount of chains could — he'd gotten out of them every time he was restrained in the past — and having what looked like seizures.

"You were right, darling," he chirped, patting down his hair primly. "It was a delightful idea to come here today. Simply splendid."

Voldemort watched avidly as the Dementors drew on Black's memories and emotions, pulling what he perceived as a bright glowing light from his body and into their hooded mouths. He wondered if anyone could see it too; they wouldn’t be arguing among themselves if they could, Voldemort was sure. Crouch himself would see what was happening for what it was: the most delicious form of torture ever invented by wizardkind.

And then, like the proverbial cherry on top of the pie, one of the Dementors ran its scabby, decaying hand along the side of the boy’s face. Black arched back with a jerk, screaming without a sound, panting but not quite managing to draw breath. The sight was something to relish, from the tears flowing down the boy’s face, to the way he was trembling uncontrollably, to the expression of sheer terror etched on features Voldemort had always found defiant, he couldn’t pick his favourite: whenever they took those deep, rattling breaths, the brat jerked against their hold, convulsed wildly, his streaming eyes opened as wide as they could go, features contorted in a soundless scream of terror as the creatures fed on him with uncharacteristic greed.

Anyone would have called the scene disgusting and horrifying to the extreme to say the least, but to Voldemort it was a thing of beauty, a solution so simple he ought to have thought of it before.

Black's idiotic heart-on-a-sleeve personality was his greatest weakness, he realised, and the Dementors were _excited_ , caressing their free feast lovingly and making it squirm and shake in a way Voldemort had never achieved himself.

Although, he thought with satisfaction, he did have a heavy hand in creating these memories for Black. Therefore, he might even come to an agreement of sorts with the Dementors, eventually.

This was quality torture at its best, something he could watch all day and never be bored. With Legilimency, he was certain, he could maybe even see what was happening in the brat's mind, if he so desired.

He tried – and confirmed his suspicions: his own expression stared right back at him, that night he cast the soul-sucking curse on Black.

He should have finished what he started that day.

He should have brought a snack.

Black's screaming was the only thing he regretted not hearing. He could see he was trying to, that throat was working itself raw. But he'd been silenced — by some annoyed soul, no doubt. Voldemort had believed the brat had been screaming because Crouch — that near-sighted, justice-loving _fool_ — had made true on his promise of breaking Sirius’ arm.

He _hadn't_.

All that clever, evil man had done was throw Black to the Dementors and leave them alone for ten minutes.

Voldemort resolved to get himself a handful.

For research purposes, and entertainment. But mostly entertainment.

Other delightful noises made up for the lack of Black's voice, though: he could hear weeping, a yell from the Potter brat, as the Dementors' hold expanded to fill the room and touched him. There were whimpers and cries, shouted orders from Moody to the Aurors, instructing them to cast their Patronii… it was absolute _chaos_.

Voldemort chuckled; he found the way people reacted to Dementors incredibly amusing.

Maybe he'd just start breeding them himself.

" _Cowards_ ," Rasmus' heavy Russian rasp hurt Voldemort's ears. When he turned, however, he noticed one more thing that made his spirits soar: Rasmus, the legendary duellist, was _afraid_.

Scratch that, he was as terrified as Black was over there.

He hadn't passed out like some of the people in the audience, but he had broken out in a cold sweat and was fumbling frantically for a piece of chocolate.

_That's two birds, one stone_ , Voldemort thought with satisfaction. If Rasmus didn't get him Black, he decided, at least now he had a way to subjugate them both.

And then he'd take whatever he wanted from them. Starting with their power, their unique sort of genius.

Suddenly his dismal experience of the past week righted itself so thoroughly, he resolved to let Rasmus have his sport if he wanted. Voldemort was now playing his own particular game.

" _Make it stop_! This has gone too far! Make it stop _now_!" Potter's wife cried out. She was pleading, and he tried to remember a time when she had. Beatrice Potter had fought with the Resistance in France during the Global Wizarding War, and she had earned herself a reputation for fearlessness. She didn't sound fearless now.

A sort of distraction added itself to the mix, in the form of the Wizengamot being reached by the Dementors too. Crouch was trying to get the creatures to shackle Black to the prisoner's chair, but they wouldn't listen, too caught up with the kid. They _liked_ him.

A whole hell of a lot.

When the rest of the witches and wizards realised that the Dementors were disinclined to let their morsel go, instead of bringing them to heel, they began shouting at each other.

"Evacuate the courtroom!"

"I said, put him on the chair!"

"Dementors have no place here! I told you, Ogden!"

"You approved the legislation yourself! You hypocrite!"

“What are they doing?!”

"Bring them to order!"

“Get them out of here!”

“Make it stop!”

"Aurors," Fudge screamed shrilly, "do something!" Voldemort couldn’t help giggling. Until he remembered Fudge was one of his, or was he? There were so many of his secret followers now, it was hard to keep track. If he was, he'd have to figure something out: that bungling fool could only give the Dark Side a bad name.

The Dementors ignored them all. All they did was make the fear spread further.

Voldemort saw all the Dementors except one glide towards the packed stands, intensifying their grip on everyone's emotions. Not even Dumbledore could move to stop them. The Dark Lord was, however, more interested in the last creature, the one bending over a now unconscious, still seizing Sirius.

It seemed for a moment that all his troubles would be over, as the creature lowered its hood, revealing a vaguely skull-like face with no eyes and a cavernous black hole for a mouth.

It was not quite the way he'd pictured Black's demise, but he was willing to let it go this once. With Black dead and out of the way, the Potters would be easy pickings, and —

" _EXPECTO PATRONUM_!"

The cry issued from right next to him, just as the Dementor was about to give Sirius Black, blood traitor, Muggle-lover, and rock in Voldemort's shoe, the famed Kiss.

A massive honey badger issued from Rasmus' wand, barrelling the Dementors over and lunging for the one that had nearly attached itself on Black's face.

_Dammit. One more second, and I’d have been rid of that particular headache_.

The badger grappled with the Dementor, and was soon joined by a dozen others: the Aurors had managed to gather their bearings, apparently.

In a moment's time, the torches flickered back on, revealing the chaos in all its glory:

The Potters — all three of them — were rushing to Black's motionless form on the floor, while more and more Patronii filled the chamber: he recognised Dumbledore's Phoenix, Moody's supersized Yorkshire terrier, a Grim he didn't know where it came from, a huge rabbit, a skunk, a killer whale…

Within moments, the Dementors had been fought back into a corner, leaving behind a shaken, anxious atmosphere as the witches and wizards tried to recover their composure.

"This is your idea of _justice_?" Rasmus boomed from the stands… in perfectly polished English. There wasn't even the slightest hint of an accent. "You cowards! Sending foul creatures against a wizard already bound, not even giving him a chance to defend himself or disprove your accusations! And you call yourselves worthy of deciding what is truth and what isn't? This is just _disgraceful_!"

Other voices added themselves to the mix, echoing Rasmus' statement.

“Make them go away!” screamed a blonde witch from the stands.

“Aurors!”

"Get them out of here!"

"Have you no shame?"

“Do something!”

“Call them off, Crouch!”

“I’m trying! You do it, see if they’ll listen to you!”

“Make them stand down!”

“They’re out of control!”

Even Crouch looked shaken and abashed now, and with every reason: The situation had gotten out of control like never before. And it had done so very publicly; already Skeeter's camera was flashing. Voldemort could tell what would be on the front page of the Prophet tomorrow morning, and he resolved to keep whatever pictures were snapped now. Maybe it was the witch he was wearing, but he had the sudden urge to start working on a scrapbook.

.

* * *

.

James rushed to Sirius' side on rubbery legs, his wand gripped in a white-knuckled hold.

Over the past few, eternal minutes, he had relived all his worst experiences in one tumbling, haphazard mental pile-up, and the chocolate he'd crammed into his mouth had managed to do only little once Sirius' mind started to crack, leaking over into James' own despite the wall Sirius had thrown up in his sudden fright.

It started with the recurring flashes of the Muggle girl, whose death not only haunted Sirius, but had ultimately made him end up _here_. James was powerless to do anything as the scene replayed itself in all its gory details, zeroing in on Sirius' greatest regret: if he'd only fought back sooner, she might have lived.

Instead, James felt by extension how she clung to Sirius' arm, yanked him down in sudden terror as she realised what was going on. Sirius' voice echoed in James' mind as he tried to get her to leave, but he was right: she had been kind to him, she'd tried to help him… and died horribly for it.

And for the first time, Sirius heard what she whispered in his ear, those last words he'd tried frantically to recall for weeks but just _couldn't_.

_"Run,"_ the girl's broken voice echoed in Sirius' mind. _"They'll kill you if you stay. Just… Please, tell my dad I love him."_

The heartache that gripped James by extension was painful, crippling in its intensity — but it wasn't the worst that leaked through their bond.

However, Sirius' worst memory by far, was something James didn't exactly even consider fitting for his own top ten.

He saw what Sirius had felt when he, James, had gotten slashed, those forgotten moments during which he had been bleeding to death in that corridor; what he’d felt when he saw Voldemort walk into Godric’s Hall like he owned the place. When his — _their_ — Dad was dying… Their Mum, crying by James' bedside… and it was worse to Sirius than all the things Voldemort and his Death Eaters had done to him, worse than any that had followed since.

" _EXPECTO PATRONUM_!" snapped James out of his depressing daze of despair. The biggest badger in creation raced past him and towards Sirius, who, he realised, was about to get his face sucked off by one of those monsters.

The fear that gripped James was worse than what he'd seen so far. His wand shot out all its own, the spell on his lips was stronger than he'd ever cast it. The Patronus that issued forth from his wand was a life-sized Padfoot that bowled a couple of Dementors over, kept them away as they tried to get a hold of Sirius, who landed in a heap on the stone floor. James followed, his legs threatening to give way with every step.

When he reached Sirius, his best friend was shaking still, his breath coming in laboured, shallow gasps.

“ _Sirius_! Sirius, wake up! Can you hear me?” James shook him frantically, but Sirius wouldn’t respond. He was shaking, still reeling from the memories shaken loose in his mind, and James knew this was worse than anything he’d been through before. The Dementors had done something not even the Lord _Thingy_ — he spat it out in his mind’s voice — had accomplished: Something had just broken in Sirius’ mind, and James found it more frightening than the many injuries he’d seen his brother endure until now. Those had hurt his body, but this… he didn’t know what this had just done to him.

All around, people were having a shouted argument — his father included — but none of that was helping Sirius at all, and James didn’t know what to do.

"Order! _Order_!" Shouted Dumbledore.

_Dumbledore_.

James let his mother through as she rushed to Sirius’ side, beside herself with worry and anger, while the Hogwarts Headmaster’s voice echoed off the courtroom walls.

"Everyone, get yourselves together. Call the medi-wizards to help anyone affected. We will begin this trial as soon as the accused is able— and afterwards, we shall hold an emergency disciplinary hearing for Bartemius Crouch, prosecutor for the Ministry, and his aide, Cornelius Fudge, for abuse of power. And someone bring those Dementors under control!"

_The accused_. _Really?!_

After all this time believing firmly that the Headmaster had a sure-fire way out of this mess, that he and Moody and his parents and the _Order_ would all help Sirius remain safe, Dumbledore was now calling Sirius _the accused_.

As if he didn’t give a shit about him.

Anger flared; Dumbledore was no better than the rest of them. And it took something like _this_ for James to figure it out, _gah_.

_Sirius was right_ , he thought bitterly. _I need a new prescription. I’m so bloody blind I couldn’t see what was right in front of me, even after he told me._

James watched mutely as his Mum picked Sirius’ tense form up, tried to get a piece of chocolate into his mouth. Sirius still didn’t seem to react, however, and James knew this would have a lasting effect. Whatever had broken in Sirius, it was something he wouldn't bounce back from so easily. As if he could take any more, _honestly_.

James felt like going mad, and _he_ hadn’t been nearly eaten by one of those things.

All because he’d trusted blindly in the people who’d promised to protect Sirius to actually come through for him; they all had assured them they _would_.

And they’d all failed him.

James, sitting on the flagstones of the courtroom floor, suddenly realised what his parents had meant, when they lectured him about getting ready for the war that had poured into their lives.

_“As long as you’re together, nothing can touch you, boys,”_ his Dad had told him and Sirius once. Sirius had been blind and loopy, but James knew now his brother wasn't the one who had needed the reminder. _“Be true to each other, keep each other safe, and you’ll be all right. I pity anyone who tries to hurt you, as long as you have each other.”_

Sirius had already gone insane lengths to do just that. He was being accused of murder, just because he’d protected James and his parents from worse than death. And James felt he wasn’t pulling his weight here at all.

_Never again_.

James vowed never again to leave Sirius alone, to let _others_ decide on his safety. It wasn’t their place, and it wasn’t as though they gave a flying fuck anyway. This was _his_ brother by choice, by blood and by fate, and he was this badly off because he, who’d never had anyone to teach him about brotherhood or family or loyalty, had known what to do before James even did. Sirius had saved him from a terrible fate, one the Dementors had just brought vividly to the forefront of their shared mind. And it was high time James stepped into his role.

If he only knew how to do that, he’d be set.

For the moment, there was nothing he could do. He watched the silvery Padfoot snap and growl at the Dementors, took in the flaring tempers and shouting around him, and wondered how people could be so blind.

A choked sob made him refocus on Sirius. His eyes were closed now, and the shudders he was racked by now were not a product of the Dementors. He was awake, or something like it, and he looked crushed. James knelt next to him, placed a hand on his shoulder. It was icy cold.

“Shh, it’s over now, honey,” James’ Mum was saying, arms wrapped protectively around Sirius. “It’s those Dementors, they bring out the worst our past has to offer… but,” she added, looking a shell-shocked Sirius in the eye. “All that is in the past. It’s _behind_ you. It’s _over_. Never forget that, Pumpkin.”

“Th-they’ll send me there, won’t they?” Sirius asked at a whisper. He had never before sounded so frightened. It wasn’t over for him, James realised, stomach plummeting.

Not by a long shot.

“No, they won’t, Padfoot. I solemnly swear. I won’t allow it.”

“I won’t either,” their Mum reminded him, as James cast a Warming Charm on his brother. “It’s terrible what they did to you, sweetie, but never forget: You’re innocent. You didn’t do this. The only thing you are guilty of, is protecting us, all of us.” More chocolate found its way into Sirius’ mouth, and before long, he finally stopped shivering, slumped against their Mum.

This was both good and bad, James thought. It meant Sirius was holding it together a little better, but it also meant he’d be made to stand trial right now; the Wizengamot were already returning to their seats, Moody had gotten himself kicked out — one less person to help Sirius’ case — and a Medi-wizard was approaching to check on him. James’ temper mounted again as the bloke unceremoniously cast an “ _Ennervate_ ” instead of just asking how Sirius was doing. Not a handful of minutes later, Sirius was declared fit to begin.

“ _Can_ you do this?” James asked Sirius a moment later, as he was swaying on the spot and looking lost. Sirius’ bloodshot eyes fixed on his, full of fear. To James' surprise, he also glimpsed a hint of… _resolve_.

“No,” Sirius admitted. “But then, I don’t think I’ll ever be.”

“Get this over with?” James suggested, offering him a hand up. Sirius took it.

“Get this over with.” His voice was nothing more than a dry rasp. James inwardly cursed them all to hell – from the Wizengamot, to Crouch, to the Aurors and their so-called friends. Outwardly, he gave Sirius a reassuring smile, righted his robes.

“Don’t let them get away with anything,” he said fiercely. “They got _nothing_ on you, Pads. Make them _feel_ it. They can’t do shit as long as we’re together, man. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He pulled Sirius into a hug. Surprisingly, Sirius didn’t flinch back. Neither did he shake.

“Make them feel it,” he rasped, and James felt Sirius’ block dissolve into nothing. He didn’t know it yet, but as their link flared up stronger than ever, it was for good. To the day he died, James would count the times Sirius blocked himself off as rare occurrences, always with a bloody good reason.

Right now, though, all James could think as two Aurors took him to the chair and shackled him to it, was that despite his resolve, Sirius was nowhere _near_ ready for this.

“Come on, honey,” his mother prompted, and led him back to his seat, where he slumped in his chair much like Sirius did.

The blasted trial hadn’t even started yet, and Sirius was already exhausted.

.

* * *

.

“State your name for this court,” Fudge prompted pompously once the Wizengamot was in session and Sirius had been shackled to the interrogation chair. It was raised in the air a couple of feet, so everyone could have a good look at the _criminal_ they had come to sentence.

“Sirius Black,” said Sirius hoarsely.

“Speak up, boy. And state your _full_ name for the record.”

“Sirius Orion Soren Pendragon Black,” Sirius gritted out, eyes glinting in annoyance already. “The Second.”

“Do you know why you stand before the Wizengamot today, Sirius Orion Soren Pendragon Black, _the Second_?” asked Fudge. James gripped the armrests of his chair. The fat wizard’s oily tone was grating on him, and a glance at his parents told him he wasn’t alone in his perception.

“You’ve got nothing better to do with your day?” Sirius ventured. While this wasn’t maybe endearing him to the jury, James understood his defiance. Give them hell, was the order of the day, and if he was going to end up in prison anyway, Sirius decided he’d bloody well make them work for it. The options left to him were beg or snap, and James fully backed his brother up in his choices.

“You have been brought before the Wizengamot under multiple charges. You are hereby accused of the cold-blooded murder of a Muggle, of the wilful destruction of a Muggle street in the Muggle town of Penarth on December the 26th, 1975. Of practising unlawful underage magic in the presence of Muggles and outside the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on several occasions from December the 21st, 1975 to February 9, 1976, of breaking and entering into the home of Thomas Stanton, a well-respected magical theorist on Christmas Day, 1975, and of destroying the said house with a group of Death Eaters. You are also being accused of aiding the extremist group known as the Death Eaters in the attack on Godric’s Hollow on December the 26th, 1975, the second attack on Godric’s Hollow and the Potter home on the 28th of January 1976. Further, you are being accused of participating in a raid on Hogwarts Castle and grounds, on February 9, 1976, where you were captured on site, thus ending your murderous rampage across the country.” Fudge took a dramatic pause, while Sirius just regarded him in silence.

He might be exhausted, but he could still glare like a pro.

“How do you plead, Sirius Black, _the Second_ , to these charges?”

“It sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” Sirius told the fat wizard. Fudge gave him an oily grin.

“You should learn there are consequences to a murderous spree, Black. How do you _plead_ to these charges and accusations?”

“What’s there to plead? Mercy?” Sirius responded, earning himself a few isolated chuckles. “I didn’t do any of those things,” he added. “Well. The street, yeah. I had a hand in that. I think. Not quite sure. I claim self-defence there. But the other stuff? It wasn’t like that at all.”

“So, you claim innocence?” Crouch chuckled.

“Oh, absolutely. How do _you_ plead for twisting facts into lies?”

Fudge ignored him, taking a step back and hooking his thumbs on his ample waistcoat.

“The accused pleads _innocence_ ,” he said disdainfully, then chuckled. “Well. It is within his rights. But we shall see about _that_.”

James bit his lip, mostly to stop himself from giving Fudge a piece of his mind. Next to him, his Dad was muttering furiously to himself. Out of them all, he’d been the most vocal, but now he had already been warned twice to stop interfering, or else they’d throw Sirius in Azkaban and lose the key, even if he was indeed innocent.

“Where were you on the 26th of December 1975?”

“I don't know,” Sirius answered honestly. “Places, I suppose.”

“Do you really think you’ll get away with making a mockery of this trial, Black?” spat Crouch from his front-row seat.

“No, I’m telling it like it is,” Sirius responded levelly. “I don’t really know where I was or when. I mean,” he added, “I’m pretty sure it was the 21st when I left London. But I could be wrong, I didn’t really get to look at the dates. And I know I ended up in Wales at some point, but it’s all a blur.”

“So you admit being in Penarth on the 26th of December!”

“No,” Sirius rasped out clearly. “I’m saying I don’t know where I was.”

“Listen here, you little berk—”

“Cornelius! Mind your language,” one of the elderly witches in plum robes admonished.

“Tell him to stop stalling and answer the question!”

“Mr. Black, please answer the question to the best of your knowledge.”

“I… think I left London on the 21st,” Sirius repeated. “I was trying to get to Hogwarts, but I ended up in Wales. I’m not sure of the dates, the last I remember looking at a calendar was Christmas day, and then it’s all a blur until late January.”

“You were seen in Penarth on the 26th of December!” Fudge cried.

“Then, aye,” Sirius shrugged one shoulder. “It’s entirely possible.”

“And in Penarth,” Fudge went on, “You went on a rampage that resulted in the destruction of Poppyfields Lane, the obliteration of a bakery and the post office, and the murder of a Muggle girl!”

“It wasn’t like that at all.” Sirius snapped. "The Death Eaters—"

“Just admit it, Black. Confess you murdered the Muggle and face the consequences!”

“It wasn’t me who killed her,” Sirius said, and then, “Do you know her name?” 

“Uh,” Fudge was thrown off his game for a moment, because he checked his parchment. “Rose Minchin,” he said, “Why?”

“Because if you know her name, you should use it,” Sirius said shortly. “Don’t call her a Muggle like she’s some piece of furniture. It’s disrespectful.”

“You know what’s _disrespectful_? You, murdering her in cold blood!”

“I DIDN’T KILL HER! Why won’t you listen?”

“You’re nothing but a liar and a murderer,” yelled Fudge

“I’m not a liar, much less about this.” Sirius’ anger was mounting rapidly, but there was no way this could end well.

“Is it surprising? All you Blacks are the same,” Crouch threw in.

“Leave him alone!” James snapped, outraged. “You won’t even let him speak!”

“Order! We will have order!” Dumbledore snapped from his raised seat. Crouch and Fudge glared up at him, but at least they stopped shouting insults at Sirius.

“You were seen standing over her body, covered in her blood!” Fudge yelled next. “Do you deny this allegation?”

“No, I don’t. But I didn’t hurt her, I was trying to help her!”

“You were seen running from the scene!”

“I was running from the _Death Eaters_ , not the _scene_!” Sirius shouted hoarsely. “They killed her, not I!”

“Nobody reported seeing any Death Eaters there.”

“Doesn’t mean they weren’t there.” Sirius glowered at the short, fat man. “And if you’re not even going to listen, then you can go get fu—”

It was perhaps, a good thing Fudge interrupted Sirius yet again.

“She was hit by a Slashing Curse, then a Killing Curse. Wasn’t one enough, Black?”

Sirius’ anger evaporated from his face. He looked down at his feet, which didn’t reach the floor. James felt a familiar blast of sadness, of regret, wash over him from Sirius’ end.

_Breathe_ , James reminded him in his mind. _Focus on what did happen, don’t play his game._

“If you want me to tell you what went on in Rodolphus Lestrange's head right then, I can't tell you."

"What does Lestrange have to do with you killing the Muggle?"

"She's got a name," Sirius snapped. "And he killed her."

"So you're saying Rodolphus Lestrange just so happened to appear in Penarth to kill her for you."

"Are you really that dim?" Sirius asked. "It was me he was aiming for. Hit her instead."

"You used her as a _shield_?!" Fudge gasped in feigned shock, but the malicious glint in his eyes didn’t fool James.

"No, I bloody well did _not_!"

“Language, Mr. Black!” Dumbledore said.

Sirius turned to the Hogwarts Head, exasperated. "He won't even listen, sir!"

“This cold-blooded psychopath wants to confuse the court!” Fudge yelled. James was sure he was enjoying himself immensely. It put a whole new perspective on bullying.

“Let me lay it out for the honourable members of the Wizengamot,” Crouch offered. James noted he was using the same tone Sirius’ dad used to speak in, when he couldn’t be bothered to go looking for his son at King’s Cross. There had to be a trick to it, getting heard even over a loud crowd without raising your voice. Sirius called it his courtroom voice, and James could see where it came in handy.

Crouch stood up. He paced in front of the railing like he owned the place, which, James supposed fairly, he did. It still rubbed him wrong when the wizard approached Sirius. With the interrogation chair raised as it was, Crouch was inches from his face, his eyes flashing with hatred.

“And for _you_ , Black, so you will finally understand, like I do, that what you did was not something that ought to be judged lightly, but with the _full_ force of our Wizarding Law.”

James swallowed dryly. To his credit, Sirius didn’t bat a lid. 

“You left your London home, for reasons unknown—”

“I’ll be happy to tell you all about it,” Sirius, apparently, had also mastered the fine art of the courtroom voice. Crouch glared at him.

“The accused will remain silent. Unless, of course, you would rather be silenced for the rest of this proceeding.”

“Can they do that?” James asked, aghast. “ _Dad_?”

“Apparently, they do.”

_What do I do? They won’t listen._ Sirius sounded beyond worried, and with reason. James knew he was not really fit to do this, and though he looked focused and unshakeable, it was just a front. One that was not going to last, and they both knew that, too.

_I know,_ James replied, trying to sound every bit as confident as Sirius needed him to be. _You’ll have to ask for the Veritaserum before they decide anything else._

_But Alfie… And you all…_

_We’ll be fine,_ James interrupted _. All of us, Sirius. It’s you who won’t be unless you demand the truth potion._

_But…_

_You swore the oaths. Just remember, do not break the oaths you swore._

_What if I…_

_I’m right here. I’ll remind you._

“On December 21 you joined He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and left your family home to enter his service. This led you to the Stanton house in the South West — that we know of, you might have been involved in several other raids, in the Midlands and London itself.”

“ _What_?” Sirius stared. “That’s not true.”

“ _Silence_ , Black,” snapped Crouch. “You’re lucky the Stantons weren’t home for Christmas, but you are still responsible, along with other, as yet unnamed, Death Eaters for levelling their country home. Then the very next morning, you arrived at Penarth in Wales, where you destroyed a Muggle street, several shops, and murdered that _Muggle_ , possibly as your induction as part of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s extremist gang. That very same day, you went to Godric’s Hollow, intent on continuing your rampage on that village, attacked the Potters in front of their home, and when that failed, you tried to destroy the town from Godric’s Hill! You were seen escaping on a broomstick, which was then blown up over the woodlands, and I’ll admit, we all thought you dead then, until we suspected you of nearly killing James Potter. Imagine our surprise when you reappeared in Godric’s Hollow that same night, in an attack on the Potters’ home no less.”

“They were trying to kill him!” James’ Dad erupted next to him, and one more voice added itself from further down the stand.

“Yes, yes, Potter, we’ve heard it all before,” Crouch said in a would-be bored drawl. “Mr. Owens has made a point of repeating that tall tale as well, but my explanation is simple: Black here failed to deliver the Potters to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and was therefore being punished. You see? There’s not one drop of heroism in this boy, much less loyalty to those he calls friends. After what he did to your son, I should think you’d have figured it out by now.”

“Now see here, Barty—” James’ Dad started, but he didn’t get to finish. The Wizengamot were calling to order again.

“As I was saying, you slipped through our fingers again, but I believe you were part of the twelve attacks on Ministry employees a few days later,” Crouch resumed, ignoring everyone. He was clearly enjoying this, the effect it had on Sirius, whose chains were clinking loudly as he tried his damnedest not to shout back at the wizard. James wasn’t unaffected either; he was gripping the railing so hard, it threatened to give way under his white-knuckled hold.

“That all came to an end only this past Monday, where you were a part of the raid on your very own school, Hogwarts. Thankfully, you were captured on site, without managing to so much as cross the grounds. You see, honourable witches and warlocks of the Wizengamot, this _miscreant_ is nothing but a good actor. You might think he comes from a distinguished and ancient House, but he is no more than a psychopath, and he must be stopped at all costs. I suggest a life sentence in Azkaban for his monstrous crimes.”

There was an uncomfortable silence following Crouch’s words. Mutters arose, filling the hall. James wished he couldn’t hear what people were saying, because so little of it was in Sirius’ favour; they seemed to be lapping Crouch’s story right up, and he felt a cold shiver run down his spine as Crouch turned to face Sirius once more. 

“What do you have to say to _that_ , Black?” he asked triumphantly. The man was insane.

“Impressive,” Sirius deadpanned, shivering. “Every word of what you just said was wrong.”

James wished for a camera for the first time that day. The way Crouch’s face crumpled into a contorted mask of rage was something he could watch all day.

He wasn’t the only one, either. A loud laugh issued from the stands. When he turned, he saw a wizard in MLE robes clapping appreciatively, and recognised the one who’d cast the huge badger Patronus earlier.

“This is _not_ a circus!” Tiberius Ogden wailed in frustration. “To order, all of you!”

“I _like_ the lad, he’s fearless!” was the amused answer. “I want to hear what he has to say, without interruptions.”

“Yes,” someone else agreed. Probably Skeeter, James wasn’t sure. “I want to know what really happened, not just a bunch of theories!”

“Minister Crouch, are you really blaming the failures of your department on a schoolboy?”

“Let him tell his side of the story!”

“That is one thing we should be hearing instead of this drivel,” James’ Dad agreed loudly.

“He’s a liar and a murderer,” Crouch protested. “Why should we believe _anything_ he has to say?”

“Because I’m not lying!” Sirius, too, was losing his patience, and his focus besides. James could feel he had a throbbing headache, and the chair and chains were a killer on his back and that bum leg, never mind that he hadn’t so much as recovered from whatever the Dementors had done just earlier. Sirius was feeling steadily worse, like he’d come down with some sort of fulminating flu, and he was struggling to stay focused. All he could think of, however, was how awful the Dementors were, and how daunting spending the rest of his life Azkaban really would be.

_Sirius,_ James urged in his mind when Sirius’ thoughts reached him, _you can’t give up now!_

_They won’t believe a word I say, Prongs. No matter what I say, they think I’m like the rest of them. You heard him._

_You’re **nothing** like the rest of them, Sirius. Don’t believe that idiot Crouch. You’ve got to ask for Veritaserum. You must, they won’t listen otherwise._

Sirius looked down at his dangling feet, took a deep, steeling breath, then another. It didn’t help him at all.

_James?_ Even his mind’s voice was suddenly small.

_Yeah?_

_I’m scared._

Never, in the ten years they’d known each other, had Sirius ever admitted or given in to fear before. James had privately thought he wasn’t capable of being afraid at all.

This wasn’t the case, he now realised. It just took a hell of a lot to rattle him, and the Dementors had done it. What else they had done, was yet to be seen.

_I’ve got you, Padfoot. I swear,_ James reassured him as best he could. _It doesn’t look like it, I know, but I’m not going anywhere, not now, not ever. I solemnly swear._

Sirius’ response to that came in the form of a small smile, which looked so out of place on his expression now. Sirius nodded to himself, sat up a little straighter.

He was going to go for it, James realised, just in time to brace himself just like Sirius was.

“I’ll… I’ll take… I demand to be interrogated with Veritaserum,” Sirius said, interrupting the squabbling crowd, and James inwardly cursed. He was shivering again, as a wave of cold washed over them both. “I’ll tell you what happened, and you can do whatever you want with it. But,” he insisted, “most of that stuff you just said is just wrong and grossly inaccurate at best.”

“Veritaserum, a likely story,” Crouch scoffed. “Do you really believe that will get you off the hook?”

“No,” Sirius admitted honestly, biting his lip. “But if that’s what it takes for you to listen to the truth, then I’ll do it.”

“It is within the rights of the accused to agree to interrogation under Veritaserum,” Dumbledore’s voice filled the hall. “You do realise that everything you said will be considered as hard evidence for your actions between the 21st of December, 1975, and the ninth of February, 1976?”

“Yes,” Sirius responded, swallowing. “I am aware.”

“I object!” Fudge waddled towards the stands. “What if he does something to it? The boy is good at Transfiguration, in Penarth there were several animated lampposts—”

“It is within his right to request Veritaserum, Cornelius,” Dumbledore said.

“And there is a law against the use of this potion on minors,” one of the plum-robed wizards interjected.

“He’s being tried for murder!” Crouch snapped.

“Just give it here,” said Sirius tiredly.

“If anything happens to him—” James’ Mum started, but it was Sirius who interrupted her now.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. P. It’ll be okay.”

_I hope_.

_So do I, Pads._

“But what if he transfigures it?” Fudge insisted.

“It’s a _kid_ , Cornelius, give it a rest,” Moody said, clunking towards Sirius, a bottle filled with clear liquid and a spoon in hand. Both boys’ hearts leapt, sudden hope flared up. _Finally_ , something was going their way.  “He doesn’t even have his wand, or are you suggesting he can do magic without one?”

“Oh no, you _won’t_!” Fudge cried, pointing an accusing finger at Moody now. “You have been found in contempt of this court, and—”

“It’s my job, as head of the Auror Division, to oversee and conduct any and all interrogations with Veritaserum,” Moody barked, making the fat wizard — and half the courtroom — jump about a foot in the air.

“I demand a substitute! In the name of the law!” Crouch was so angry his face was flushed red like a tomato.

“Alastor Moody,” Dumbledore said, “unfortunately you _have_ been found in contempt of this court, and are currently facing due process for insubordination.”

“They were torturing the boy!” Moody erupted. “What did you expect, that I’d condone such brutality? On _my watch_? Are you serious?”

James wondered the same thing.

“Your grievance has been noted; however, our law clearly states that now I must ask you to stand down from your duty to this court, and appoint a substitute, who shall take over this interrogation directly.”

“ _What_?” James asked, aghast. This couldn’t be happening! Whose side was Dumbledore bloody _on_?!

Worse yet, he could feel Sirius’ hopes shatter along with his, his fear rising so fast, Sirius thought it would leap out of his mouth and become one more Dementor in the room.

_Shit, oh shit. Oh shit_ , James’ mind repeated, as though it were a mantra.

All their hopes were now pinned on the handful of binding oaths he had made Sirius swear last night, and as he remembered the wording, James was more inclined towards clinging to Sirius’ capacity of sifting through the questions put to him and somehow managing to give straight answers without giving anything away.

Right now, the oaths seemed the weakest, flimsiest of protection for his brother, and James felt like he’d spew chocolate onto the dais any minute.

_“Alright, hold your wand up and repeat after me,”_ he had said to Sirius in the Hospital Wing last night, _“I, Sirius Orion Soren Pendragon Black the Second solemnly swear, under pain of enduring the Curse of the Eunuch, that I will not spill the beans on one Alphard Erithremus Betelgeuse Black, or any of the things he did to help me…”_

_Yeah_ , thought James miserably, _I could’ve done better._

_You did good_ , Sirius’ voice said in his mind, and he sounded reassuring, something James had meant to do for him. James wondered why the roles had suddenly reversed; Sirius’ situation had just become very dangerous and, to James, unbearably worse. You tried, and that’s what counts.

**_Can_ ** _you do this, Sirius?_

_I guess we’ll find out in a sec. And, James?_

_Yeah, Padfoot?_

_Don’t go anywhere, all right? Please._

_Trust me, I won’t. I’ll be right here_.

 

“Sirius Black,” Dumbledore’s voice snapped their attention back to the dais, where things had changed yet again. Crouch and Fudge were glowering in their seats, and towering over Sirius despite the raised chair, was the enormous Hit Wizard from earlier. Sirius instinctively flinched away from him. “Your request to be interrogated using Veritaserum has been accepted by the Wizengamot. Tiberius Shacklebolt, Head of the Hit Wizard Department, shall conduct your interrogation. Be reminded that any testimony deposed here will be considered as hard evidence of your actions and shall carry weighty consequences. There are other options left to you, such as the use of a Pensieve and eyewitness accounts, which shall not be deemed necessary unless the Wizengamot rules otherwise. Do you still wish to proceed?”

Sirius swallowed dryly. Then he nodded.

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

To James it was as though he were agreeing to his own death sentence.

Of course, he was careful not to let Sirius notice.

 

.

* * *

.

 

The school was in session once again, which Minerva was grateful for. And she had two free periods now, which she usually spent napping on her windowsill. It got all the sunshine this time of day.

However, today, sunbathing was the last thing on her mind.

Like her students, she had had a very difficult time focusing on her lessons all day, which was a rare occurrence at best, but her mind kept wandering to Sirius Black and his murder trial, and no matter how many times she repeated to herself that he would not be sent to Azkaban, she could not help worrying, either.

She had mourned him when she believed him dead, had had to deal with that horrible hag he had for a mother, only to be told that he was alive — barely clinging to life, but _alive_ — and drafted to help him recover from wounds that were nothing short of horrifying.

During the past month, Minerva had come to see another side to Sirius Black, James Potter and their friends; she had learnt to see past the schoolboys she thought she knew and discovered a bond that went deeper than any she had encountered in her life.

She had watched them struggle, suffer, only to raffle themselves up and carry on… and during this time, she had come to love them both as her own. And she was proud of them both: James had single-handedly put an end to a promising inter-House war, and Sirius… Well, he had always liked getting into a scrap, but saving the school from invasion had not been something she’d expected he could do. She would have to have the Special Awards for both of them made out soon.

Now, she appreciated all her Gryffindors, maybe more than was advised for a Head of House. But, for nearly ten months out of each year she was the surrogate mother of her House, and she made it a point to not merely instruct her students, but to guide them into becoming better human beings. In doing so, she established bonds with each of them, but it would be a lie to say she loved them all equally. Black and Potter had earned themselves a special place in her heart, Lupin and even little Pettigrew, as well.

Minerva McGonagall sighed nervously, giving up on grading the essays her Third Years had handed in this morning. She wished she could just nip over to the Ministry and see for herself how things were progressing, but with Dumbledore gone, she was in charge of the school today.

It was easy to dismiss the very real danger such a trial posed to Sirius, especially compared to the spectacular battle she had witnessed him fighting only a few days prior — but now she was acutely aware of the dent made in her roster of Fifth Years once more, she couldn’t but worry. She had gone to school with Bartemius Crouch, after all. She knew how… anal retentive the man was. Inflexible to the point of cruelty, all in the name of rules and regulations only he knew the name of, she was sure.

With Albus’ hands tied until it was time to give a verdict, and such overwhelming circumstantial evidence against Sirius — he had been seen at Godric’s Hollow before the Potters were attacked, and while that was some polyjuiced Death Eater, there were too many other instances where a seasoned prosecutor with a grudge against Sirius would find a loophole and twist the tale around to suit his purposes.

Then, Sirius could very well end up in Azkaban, maybe for the rest of his life; and she knew it in her bones, he wouldn’t survive a week in there. And James… James would simply break down, after everything he’d done for months to keep up a cheerful front.

Minerva found this a terrible thought to have, but she couldn’t shake her fears.

“Come back, both of you,” she said into the air, then smiled despite her own dread. “Don’t make all these preparations to give you two the Talk have been in vain.”

 

.

* * *

.

 

Elsewhere in the castle, there was one more person who had trouble staying on point.

Nina McAlpin, the school’s newest addition, found herself in an unused classroom on the Third Floor. She wasn’t lost, as people might think at first glance. She might be new to Hogwarts now, but she knew the castle well enough to know that chances of anyone overhearing whatever she said or did were slim at this time of day.

Especially here.

Which was why she was on this wing at all; she wasn’t fond of the Third Floor. Just like the school administration, apparently. They never used it for lessons or anything.

She pulled a mirror out of her pocket and settled on one of the dusty benches to wipe its surface clean. She needed to focus hard to get the connection to work, as a rule, so she had developed a little ritual. She closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths, focused on the person she needed to talk to now.

“Dad?” she asked into the mirror’s surface. Her reflection faded, giving way to the customary milky white fog.

A little while later, she saw a familiar, welcome face appear.

“You’re late,” her dad chided. Nina smiled, then shrugged.

“It’s been bedlam here. Everyone’s talking about the trial… It’s rather worse than they let on.”

“And I’m guessing, you want to talk to him?”

“Can he? I mean, it’s happening right now.”

Her father’s face disappeared from the mirror’s surface, leaving her to look at the great hall of her old home. She bit her lip, closing her eyes as another wave of nausea washed over her. This was _bad_.

“You look like you’re going to spew your lunch.”

Nina opened her eyes and smiled despite herself. The wizard on the other end of the mirror was someone she missed more than anyone. But then, she’d _chosen_ to come here now, before any of the others did. She just didn’t think it would be so hard.

“You’re still you,” she said, surprised.

“I’m always me,” was the flippant response. “What’s eating at you?”

“I keep getting these flashes. They’re not like you said it would be.” She couldn’t help her tone at all, even if chiding was the last thing she wanted to do. “Earlier… It was bad. Worse than that, even after you said the Dementors would be there.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she reminded him, shivering despite herself. “But I’m _worried_. You… you’re okay? Because Sirius isn’t, he’s not doing well at all.”

“I’ll be fine.” Given that this was the answer she always got, she shook her head.

“ _When_? You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

“ _When_?”

“Soon. If all stays the way it has to…”

“I’m about to throw up,” she warned. “This… you didn’t say _this_ would happen. I’m feeling everything Sirius is, and if he gets anything from me—”

“You’ve got to close yourself off.”

“You know I’m rubbish at it. It was bad enough in Blackpool. Sirius and James thought I was going bonkers, arguing with Uncle Angus all the time and bursting into tears at random… I just couldn’t help myself, and—”

“ _And_ ,” was the maddening answer, delivered in the customary carefree tone, “this shouldn’t be as bad. Just breathe.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“It’s really not.”

Nina examined the face in front of her, then sighed. He wasn’t lying. He never did, to her. Not for a long time, at least, and he wasn’t lying now.

“How’s the rest?”

“Oh. You know. Getting ready to infiltrate Hogwarts. They seem to think it’s a big operation and everything. They’ll want you to tell them where they posted Aurors and how far the wards are reaching this time. It’s always different, if I remember correctly.”

“Yeah, I don’t remember you telling me about the new island Sirius made the other day, either.”

Her answer was a chuckle. She’d missed that sound.

“I hope you paid close attention to things, your dad was suggesting we have a map made out. Personally, I think he’s trying to keep us busy and away from other people who might make a connection.”

“He wouldn’t be wrong.”

Nina closed her eyes as the nausea flared up again, along with emotions that weren’t hers. Fear was prominent among them, fear and regret. Sirius was talking about the day that Muggle girl was killed. It made her want to cry.

“The problem with empaths such as you,” he went on, “is that you’ve got an emotional link. Try to let it go.”

“How? I can’t exactly _control_ this.”

“You’ve got to care less. Or at least, try to care less.”

“Wait—” Nina focused on the trial, doing exactly the opposite of what she was supposed to. From the moment Sirius was given the Veritaserum, the flashes came faster, but she was also getting some of what he was seeing. And what he saw was… “Rasmus Thanatovich,” said Nina. “He’s there.”

“How do you know?”

“Sirius can smell him, and you don’t forget that cologne in a hurry.”

“He doesn’t know who Rasmus is!”

“No, but I do. It’s him. Trust me.”

“Didn’t know he was in England already,” was the musing response she got. “I’ll have to tell the others.”

“Wait,” Nina said hurriedly. “You can’t just go already? I’ve been waiting for days—”

“You’re doing great,” was the reassurance she got. “Just keep James and Sirius in the dark about who you are, and try to get a hold on the positions of the Aurors and Hit Wizards posted in the school, what times they change the guards, that sort of thing. They won’t send them home so soon, not after the Death Eaters nearly got into the school, and we don’t know who’s in charge of warding the castle and grounds yet. And,” he added, “be careful. You know those boys are sharp and they won’t take kindly to any intrusion. Now Sirius is awake you can’t hide in his dreams anymore, Nina. You’ve got to learn to block yourself off.”

“But I can’t stop caring, it’s not that simple.”

“I know, but that’s all I have. Use the Hellion method, at least for a little— did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“There’s someone right outside. Go now, and remember I love you.”

Despite the urgency, Nina smiled. “I love you more,” she said, cutting the connection and yanking the door open.

Looking out, she caught a glimpse of a girl's dark braid and the corner of school robes as they whipped around the corner.

_Oops_.

.

* * *

 

.

 

**TBC.**

**R &R**, it’s really helpful. Honest.

 

**Up next** : Shacklebolt reminds me of that bloke in the Green Mile for some reason when he’s really rather unique, while Rasmus is like a duelling Hannibal with a dash of Putin, and Fudge always makes me want to get some ice cream. Thought you ought to know.

As for the story, there’s the final – I hope – part of the trial, which right now is rather touch-and-go for everyone involved. I really didn’t expect Moody to be kicked out, and I had to rewrite the whole thing. Anyway, Voldemort gets what he wants — no, not that, the other thing — Sirius under Veritaserum is more of a Dementor magnet than we thought, Dumbledore… I _really_ don’t know what his deal is, I put him there specifically to look after the boys (*!), Rasmus has a mancrush on Sirius, Crouch… is a friggin grouch, you guys. He needs a hobby, srsly. And Remus’ day is made.

Also: Conspiracy Fridays become a thing.


	24. A Black's Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Sirius gets super high on Crouch's orders and right under the Aurors' noses (I'm sure there's something very wrong about this somewhere, not sure if it warrants a TW, but just in case), and ends up doing something to enrage the dark lord…ette. James gets accused too, because, why not, right? Marlene freaks out, Nina has a floor fetish, and Remus' day is made. Only not, because it's stillllll Friday the 13th.   
> Oh, and a very important character death at the end. Skip if you rly love the dog.  
> I'm sorry!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DND's Fun Fact Disclaimer: "If DND owned HP, she wouldn't share this for free."   
> Fun fact: That, folks, rhymed.  
> Don't drink and drive.  
> ________________________________________  
> Some more notes: I couldn't decide whether or not to include the trial in all its gory details, so I fried some people's brains (Thanks for your help, TheDivineComedian and TheFearTakesHold, and Shayde123 for your patience!), worried about it, flipped a coin. Heads, I'd summarise. Tails, a blow-by-blow. The chapter is once again very long, so guess what I got.  
> Yep. It was heads, and I cut heaps. No, honest, I cut like, 5k words. Then more came out, and I'm sorry if this trial is dragging like it's nobody's business, but I swear the end result is worth it… I think. I did, however, split it into sections as best I could, in case it gets boring or something. The trial will be over in the next chapter, though. I know, because it's written.

 

 

* * *

 

**Part Twenty-Four: A Black's Mind (Is A Scary Place)**

 

* * *

.

Tiberius Shacklebolt, the gargantuan Head of the Hit Wizard Division, received a fresh vial of Veritaserum and a new spoon from some court aides in pink robes. According to Crouch, who tested both items to his satisfaction, one could never be too careful.

James wondered why the Wizengamot were indulging the bastard, but so far, he was underwhelmed by the Ministry's brand of Wizarding Justice. Crouch seemed to own the courtroom, and he couldn't miss some of the looks the Wizengamot were shooting at Sirius. They ranged from disapproving to outright hostile.

Sirius hadn't missed them, either.

"Do you know what this is?" Shacklebolt boomed him and showed him the vial.

"This is you not believing a word I say."

"It's _protocol_ , Black!" shouted Crouch triumphantly. " _Deal with it_!"

"Bartemius Crouch, please stand down. This is an official interrogation conducted by the Ministry of Magic's Specialised Force Division. I advise you, do _not_ obstruct the interrogation," Shacklebolt said, without a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"Fine," Crouch was muttering in the background. "Just you wait until I get my turn. You will all see how guilty this miscreant is."

"Enough," Dumbledore admonished. To James' surprise, Crouch grumbled something, but returned to his seat and shut his gob.

 _Whoa, this is one scary bloke._ Sirius in his mind was trying to swallow back his dread, but it still bled through to James.

 _No kidding, Pads. Try not to get on the wrong side of him. He seems fair,_ he added. _He might just hear you out._

 _I'm trying!_ Sirius sounded worried. _He doesn't look fair from where I'm sitting. More like he'll have me for bloody brekkers._

_Try harder. Just stick to the facts._

Shacklebolt then turned back to Sirius, who made himself look back at him. "Do you know what this is?" he asked again.

"Veritaserum," Sirius answered.

"Do you understand the process of interrogation?" Shacklebolt asked Sirius next.

"Yeah. I mean," he added hastily. "I do."

"With this, you will answer any and all questions put to you, and they will be treated as a full confession and as hard evidence. You may not appeal or deny any of what you say now before this or any other court."

Sirius swallowed dryly, then nodded.

"I understand."

"Drink this, then. And answer to your conscience."

Ominous as this sounded, James knew Sirius wasn't guilty of any of the dreadful things shoved at his feet. Still, he was high-strung and nervous as the Hit Wizard counted out six drops of the silvery potion onto a spoon.

"Six drops?" Sirius asked, confused. "Shouldn't it be three?"

"I _knew_ it! He's familiar with the potion!" Cried Crouch. "I move we disregard any of the confessions made under its influence!"

"How do you know the dosage of the Veritaserum potion?" Shacklebolt's deep bass drowned out whatever else Crouch was saying.

"Because I… go to school?" Sirius _was_ trying to be civil, James knew; it just wasn't working out at all; his sarcasm always got the better of him. "They do teach that sort of thing there, you know."

Crouch looked so stumped, it made James laugh along with the rest of the attendance, who had all gone very quiet the instant Shacklebolt stepped onto the dais. Nobody wanted to miss this, it was clear.

"And have you ever been given this potion before?"

"Yes, I have."

James stopped laughing abruptly. He hadn't known about that.

"What?" he wasn't the only one; his parents were both shocked. No wonder Sirius was so worried about what he might say; he already knew what it was like.

"Why?"

"My parents don't usually believe a word I say, either."

"That damned _hag_ ," James' Mum muttered furiously, and suddenly James understood why not one of the Blacks had come to watch the trial. They were _afraid_ of his Mum.

"All the more reason to double the dose. It is known to create a resistance in habitual subjects," Fudge's oily voice carried clearly across the packed chamber.

"Oh, just give it here. You can double _that_ if you want," Sirius said, exasperated, gesturing at the spoon Shacklebolt was holding and making his chains rattle. "Hell, you can give me the whole bloody bottle, it won't change _anything_ I have to say."

"That's what you _think_ , you little pillock."

"I'm not lying!" Sirius erupted. "Believe what you will, I didn't kill anyone, nor _would_ I!"

_Although I'd make an exception of that fat bugger, gah._

_Just breathe, Padfoot,_ James admonished tensely. _It'll do you no good to lose your grip._

"We'll see about that," Shacklebolt declared, but the Wizengamot listened to Crouch and ordered a spoonful of the potion, which went into Sirius' mouth an instant later, despite isolated protests.

What followed was to James, a rush worse than smoking a Gillyweed joint and flying screwdrivers across the school grounds while blindfolded. He felt as though he were falling from a great height, and his already churning stomach decided it might be a good moment to turn itself inside out. James swallowed back his nausea, forced his entire being to stick it out by Sirius' side rather than away from him, which his every fibre was trying to do.

For this to work — or fail — he had to maintain their bond wide open. A part of him knew without a doubt, if he lost his bond to Sirius, he wouldn't be able to reconnect, and how could he be there for him then?

Sirius swayed on his chair. His eyes lost their focus, his expression went completely slack. He had gone rather paler than before, and the chains were clearly doing most of the job of holding him upright now. If James hadn't known better, he'd have thought Sirius was incredibly drunk.

 _Are you okay?_ James asked worriedly.

"'M a'ight," Sirius mumbled aloud.

 _Sirius, you have to speak to me in your **mind**. Not aloud, not for anything,_ James reminded him at once.

 _Sorry. I might spew all over this bloke_.

_Try not to. Just breathe, mate. You'll do great._

_At least one of us is convinced_.

"State your full name for the record, please," boomed Shacklebolt.

"Sirius Orion Soren Pendragon Black, the Second." Sirius' voice was a hoarse monotone, and James could see how the truth potion worked. It made every response automatic, and to judge by how Sirius' awareness limited itself to Shacklebolt all of a sudden, it also did something to one's priorities.

"Sirius Black, do you know why you are here in this courtroom today?"

"You… you think I killed Rose Minchin. You think I ran away from my mother's house and joined Voldemort—" There were hisses and fearful cries from the audience. James rolled his eyes. "You think I did all those things… F… Fud…" Sirius shook his head, tried to recall the name and failed. He settled for, "… the little fat man, what he was listing off."

"Did you do any of those things?"

" _No_ ," Sirius insisted, and James was surprised at the emotion behind his statements. He was sick of having to repeat himself. "It wasn't like he said at all."

"So you deny having joined the Dark Side?"

"Oh, _absolutely_." Sirius leaned back on the chair, trying to get marginally comfortable. It was clear he wasn't thinking; his eyes kept wandering the room, searching ceaselessly for something to focus on, and James could feel by extension how sluggishly his entire system was working. It was like everything was a struggle, starting with staying awake. He was just a mouth answering all questions put to him by Shacklebolt, no brain.

"And you killed the Muggle girl." Crouch's voice made Sirius scowl in his general direction, but he couldn't focus enough to turn it into a glare.

" _No_. And don't call her "the Muggle girl". Her name was Rose Minchin, the fat… what's his name?" Sirius cast about for the word.

 _It's Fudge, Padfoot,_ James supplied.

" _Fudge_!" Sirius echoed. "Fudge. He said so earlier."

"What difference does that make?" Crouch snapped. "Answer the question!"

"She had a name. I didn't know her name then. But she had one. She wasn't… wasn't a _thing_ , so stop treating her like one."

"We wouldn't have to if you hadn't _murdered_ her!" Crouch erupted. "Why _did_ you kill her, Black?"

"I _didn't_ kill her, I keep trying to tell you." Sirius insisted. "Rod did."

"Who the hell is Rod?" Fudge snapped. He had gone a very blotchy red when Sirius called him "the little fat man".

"Rodolphus." Sirius swallowed dryly. "Rodolphus Lestrange."

"Why did he kill her?" Shacklebolt wanted to know.

"She stopped to help me," Sirius said, eyes fixing themselves on Shacklebolt's and focusing at last. "I slipped on the ice while I was… I was trying to run from them… The Death Eaters, I mean. She came to help me up. She was kind to me, and they killed her just for that. It should have been me." Finally, he had managed to explain, at least some of it, and James could feel the weight that had started to lift from Sirius' shoulders.

"Would you please explain from the start?" Shacklebolt prompted.

"The start of my _life_?" Sirius asked back, a hint of a whine in his tone. "I don't remember it all."

"No," Shacklebolt said with a smile. "You don't have to tell us your entire life story."

"Oh good. Because that would suck," Sirius agreed. "Your teeth are really white," he added dazedly.

"I floss every day. Now, tell us everything you remember from the night you left London to the time the girl, er, Rose Minchin, died."

James held his breath. This was one question he _hadn't_ prepared for. Sirius hadn't either, he was sure. A question like that would prompt him to tell them about Padfoot, about… _everything_.

Sirius swayed in place, frowning slightly. He was shivering on and off, bloodshot eyes still wandering ceaselessly around the room.

"Well, uh…"

 _James! What do I do?_ Incredibly, Sirius seemed to have caught on to it too. James wondered if the oaths he'd made him swear had a part in that, because his focus was completely shot.

_Stick to the facts, tell them about what happened at your mum's, and remember: you're still you as Padfoot. Just don't tell them you're a part-time dog. He didn't ask that._

"I had to run," Sirius started hesitantly. "Voldemort was in my room, you see—"

And _that_ earned him more hisses and winces.

James let out a slow breath to steady himself. Sirius had managed to clear the first hurdle, but this wasn't a clear-cut steeplechase. He had to stay connected with his friend, had to remain focused where Sirius might not manage for much longer.

.

* * *

.

The British form of Wizarding Justice was rather different from what Rasmus Thanatovich had experienced from other countries. He was half disgusted by a system where the accused had to defend himself from a prosecutor and fifty-two judges, without the luxury of even being able to make his case, and half admired the coldness of it all.

He had heard the stories Voldemort had shared, but hadn't stopped to think about the implications this could have for the boy the Dark Lord had put forward as a worthy adversary. Rasmus had known Orion Black in life, and had frankly been intrigued by his eldest, his curiosity fuelled by an extensive news coverage and the stories told by the Dark Lord himself. But mostly, he wanted to see if there was a member of the Second High House who was worthy of his attention.

So far, Rasmus mused sadly, he had been disappointed. He'd seen very little of the courage and resourcefulness Voldemort claimed the boy had. To be fair, those Dementors hadn't helped him one bit — Rasmus was familiar with those creatures from the deepest pit of Hell like few others; they brought back the Global War and the atrocities he had both experienced and committed: his role in the war had not always been an honourable one.

He avoided his past, as a rule. His first real recollection of accomplishment, of belonging, had come when he was but a little older than Sirius Black himself, and the things he had grown up with… they were the very sort of things the Dementors brought to the forefront of his mind, the things he had done during the War often had the same effect. They didn't even need to be close by, like earlier; they always brought the worst moments of his life with them, a weakness he had trained for years to overcome. The Black boy seemed to have the same problem.

A pity.

 _Or… maybe a kindred soul, at last?_ Did he dare hope?

"Okay, hold it right there," Shacklebolt was saying, holding up an enormous hand. Sirius flinched back out of reflex, and as Shacklebolt realised his blunder and lowered it, Rasmus' heart fell. This was not what he'd expected from Orion's son. Any self-respecting Black would have had more spine. "Do not call him that."

"Call who what?" Sirius seemed confused. Rasmus decided to wait it out before he judged the book by its cover, but he wasn't holding out any hopes. Had this been an audition, he would already have sent the applicant packing.

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," Shacklebolt answered, and why did he sound like he was speaking to a child?

Well, alright, he _was_.

But _why_ …?

"You mean, Voldemort?" Sirius asked, frowning at nothing in particular.

 _Ah_. Rasmus understood. The Veritaserum. It must have addled his perception, and once again he wondered why the Ministry allowed such methods to be used. A wizard should be taken at his word, it was only decent.

Instead these cravens were flinching every time Black said the Dark Lord's name, someone behind him even cried out as though the boy had struck them.

Rasmus glanced at his friend, who looked very satisfied with the world just now. As if something in their reaction vindicated him somehow.

"That's right. You're not afraid of saying the name?" Shacklebolt was asking.

"Um, no," Sirius answered. "Not anymore. I mean, I've seen him, I know what he can do… what he does. But the name, it's just silly."

Rasmus' eyebrows shot up, suddenly glad he'd decided to stick around.

"Well, we do not say the name. We call him He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or You Know Who."

"But…" Sirius shuddered, tried to clear his head. "But I _do_ know who… His name is Voldemort, and I'll admit, it's a _really_ bloody _stupid_ name, but he blippin' _picked_ it."

"Ha!" Rasmus exclaimed. He was suddenly fascinated by the boy in the chains, and decided that maybe there was something special about him, after all.

A glance revealed that the Dark Lord's expression had soured considerably, despite the hisses and cries that echoed all over.

Rasmus grinned his earnest, open and most toothy grin. Even if it was only for this, coming here had already paid off.

"I can see that," Shacklebolt conceded, as amused as Rasmus was himself. "Just call him that for a bit, okay?"

"C-call him… call him… "that"?"

"No. Call him He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or You Know Who."

" _Who?_ " Sirius asked with a hint of a whine, and Rasmus couldn't bite back a snort. The boy was earnestly lost, and Shacklebolt buried his face in his palm, clearly to stop himself from laughing out loud. All around them, the cries and hisses grew to wails.

"The, er, Dark Lord, Sirius."

"Yeah, I wanted to tell you about Voldemort all along," Sirius answered, blinking slowly. "But you won't let me."

"Yes, and I promise you, you will," Shacklebolt said, sounding for all the world like he was talking to a toddler. "But you see, his name scares people, and nobody here says it. So, _please_ , call him You Know Who."

"No way, that's _stupid_ ," Sirius retorted, shivering. "That's even stupider than calling him Voldemort in the first place."

"For God's _sake_ , boy!" a wizard with enormous white sideburns shouted from the Wizengamot area, making Sirius give a start. "Call him whatever you like, but _stop saying the name_!"

Sirius' head went up, dazedly scanning his surroundings. He had gone a little green, and Rasmus hoped the Veritaserum wouldn't have a lasting effect. It would be a pity if he was permanently damaged.

"Well," he said slowly, but there was a glint in his eye all of a sudden. Did the boy know Voldemort was watching him? "I like to call him Lord Thingy, myself." He smiled to himself, as Shacklebolt let out a laugh despite it all. He wasn't the only one. Rasmus couldn't stop himself.

"All right, Lord Thingy it is," he agreed.

_You bet it is, boy._

"It pisses him off," Sirius added with undisguised satisfaction. "Like, _royally_."

 _Oh yes, it does, child._ Rasmus turned to look at the Dark Lord, whose feminine features were contorted in the sourest grimace in creation. Rasmus had never seen anyone get so clearly under Voldemort's skin, and he'd known the dark wizard since the Grindelwald days, when he had been a little older than Black himself.

"You see?" cried Crouch. "He admits knowing him!"

"Knowing who?" Sirius asked innocently. Crouch sputtered, and Shacklebolt sniggered like a schoolboy.

"Gah! You _KNOW_ Who!"

"Oh. You mean Voldemort," Sirius answered. "Yeah, you could say that. I've met him a few times, I've been trying to tell you."

"We're calling him the Lord Thingy, remember?" Shacklebolt reminded him, gesturing for people to stop hissing.

"Lord Thingy," Rasmus wheezed. "He is giving good name of you."

"Yeah. Sorry. Force of habit," said Sirius.

"I can see that," Voldemort gritted out.

"All right. Try not to forget, Sirius," Shacklebolt's deep voice had acquired a distinctly friendly tone. Sirius swayed on his chair and nodded, but the next moment, he had disengaged completely.

"All right, Sirius," Shacklebolt prompted. "You wanted to tell us why the Lord Thingy was in your room."

Rasmus had heard only the barest minimum of this story, which was a pity — it was a good tale, even if it came out in a hoarse monotone. Black gave his full account of what, exactly, had gone on when the Lord Thingy came to pick him up for an "apprenticeship" after the traditional Yule feast.

Apparently, he had been locked in his room, without meals or even his wand, for days prior to the feast, and the venerable Mrs. Black had taken the added precaution to call in every Death Eater she knew, because…

"I'd get away otherwise. It's not the first time she's tried it," Sirius swallowed dryly, then shrugged. "I guess she just really, _really_ wanted me to become a proper Black this time." Sirius raised his eyebrows, as if to say, "what can you do?"

"What's a proper Black like?"

"One who rules the family. Cruel to everyone except the other Blacks, bigoted and twisted and balls-deep in dark magic and y'know, one who thinks purity of blood is the best thing since self-stirring cauldrons. She wants a right proper Black as the head of the family, so either I had to turn into him, or I had to get out of the way so Reggie can step up."

"And did you want to become that?"

"Hell, no. I want to fight it."

"I take it that didn't go over well."

"Yeah, you could say that."

"And that's when she called Lord Thingy in to help her?"

"Yeah. He said by the start of term, I'd be ready to take my place at the head of the table or, y'know, six feet under."

"Sounds like a lot of pressure."

"It's a crock full of bollocks. I never wanted the position anyway. I hope they got the message. I certainly did."

"So, the Lord Thingy was there to collect you."

"Yes. Well, to be fair, he tried." And was that a glint of satisfaction in his eyes? Rasmus wanted to think it was.

"How exactly did he try?"

Sirius actually chuckled.

"You know how he sweeps in all imposing like and then tries to get in your head?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't have that particular experience."

"It's like, he tries to make you think you _want_ to go with him. That it's the best thing that can happen to you, because he's honouring you with his undivided attention. And while you're trying not to get all turned around, he's poking in your mind, looking for secrets that he wants."

"What secret would he want from you? No offence, but you're just a lad."

"He wanted the Potters' location, the magical signature of their private Floo terminal… how to get past their wards."

"Did you give him that?"

There was no mistaking it this time: Sirius actually laughed.

"I didn't give him shite. It pissed him off _so_ bad… It's not funny — well, it's a little funny," he amended. "There's this vein on his forehead that bulges so when he's not getting his way. I thought he'd pop it when I told him he could kiss my arse."

"Damn brat," Voldemort's voice was a hiss, and when he turned, Rasmus saw that the Polyjuice was running out. Grinning with satisfaction, he nudged the Dark Lord to take another sip from his flask.

"He," Rasmus gestured at Sirius, "Much courage."

"He's nothing but a stubborn fool."

"You," Rasmus added, gesturing at his companion's front. "Pssssh, deflating."

Voldemort looked down at his suddenly much flatter chest. He took a sip from his flask, and moments later, he was full-blown again.

Stubborn fool or no, Black had come out of this encounter on top. Rasmus could just imagine the scene. Wandless, weakened, surrounded by wand-happy Death Eaters and an irate Dark Lord… knowing he would either have to submit or die.

"Black boy," he said with satisfaction. "I like."

"You would, Thanatovich. Will you defeat him for me?"

"I no haff decide yet. I am excite," he assured Voldemort. "But I no haff decide."

"Why don't you speak with that perfect accent you used earlier?" Voldemort groused, using a mirror to pat down his hair and adjust his bonnet.

"Accent? Oh, that only for acting. I no act when I with you." Rasmus turned his attention back to the goings-on on the dais, where Sirius was being made to describe what his big mouth had earned him.

"He tried the Imperius Curse… a few times," Sirius was telling the Hit Wizard haltingly. "Then, I'm sure it was Cruciatus, but the rest is a bit muddled. He asked everyone to join in, to teach me a lesson."

Rasmus' eyes narrowed. He had never been partial to killing circles, but he had participated in a few and could tell it for what it had been.

"What lesson was that?" Shacklebolt wanted to know.

Sirius gave him a crooked smile.

"I couldn't tell you, I didn't learn it. I suppose it was something about joining him or dying, but I did neither, so your guess is as good as mine."

"What made you not join him? Wouldn't it have been better for you if you had?"

"They'd have made me give him James. They'd have made me torture and kill and things, how is that better?" Sirius asked, then ran a hand down his face. "I'd rather die."

"It sounds like you were well on your way," Shacklebolt replied, checking the notes from his Quick-quotes Quill. "Wait a moment. What do you mean by, he tried the Imperius _a few times_?"

"It doesn't work on me, does it," Sirius answered like it was obvious. "It hasn't for years. And I _really_ didn't want to give him what he wanted."

Interesting. Rasmus' eyebrows shot up, and he decided that this young Black was definitely not failing in the spine department.

"What exactly did he want?"

"James. His parents. He knew he's my best friend," said Sirius. "He wanted me to, what's the word? I don't know, he wanted me to kill his parents and bring James to him."

"And you wouldn't do it?"

"What, and let the bloody bastard do the exact same thing to James? Are you _dim_? Not in a million years."

"Does the Lord Thingy know that?"

"Of course he knows. He asked. I told him." Sirius shivered, shook his head to clear it. "He wasn't too pleased with my answer."

"Do you know why he wants James?"

"The Potters have always fought for the Light, haven't they. They always will. They're something like icons for the Light. He wants them dead, to make an example out of them… 'this is what happens to whomever stands in my way', that sort."

"And James? Does he want to kill James?"

"No, I don't think he wants to kill him, not in the traditional sense. He wants to turn him. He wants James' power, or to keep him like a pet or something. Just so he can say, 'Behold, even a Potter is at my feet'. But that would kill James, because he'd never turn." Sirius looked down, trying to collect his thoughts. "Personally, I think he's just afraid."

"Who's afraid of what?"

"Vol… Sorry, the Lord Thingy. He's afraid of James."

" _What_?" James Potter's voice cut through the air, and a torrent of voices joined him.

"I most definitely am _not_!" Voldemort shrieked furiously, but it went unheard in the loud babble.

"Calm down, my loff," Rasmus' eyes were dancing. "I vant to hear."

"Why would Vol— sorry, the Lord Thingy be afraid of James?"

"James is powerful," Sirius answered without hesitation. "He's clever, he's resourceful, and he's brave. Voldemort's afraid of that, because people will follow James and not him. And he's afraid James will lead others to fight him."

"Don't say the _name_!" someone wailed in the background. They went ignored.

"And you? Would you follow James and not him?"

"I'd die for James. He's my best friend," Sirius answered. "And I wouldn't follow Voldemort to the loo if my life depended on it."

"The Lord Thingy," Shacklebolt reminded Sirius.

"Yeah, I wouldn't follow him anywhere, either. Told him as much. Things… sort of got worse after that."

And as Sirius explained how the killing circle had closed in on him until he'd "grown sick of getting thrown all around his room", found an opening and jumped out of his bedroom window, Rasmus made a choice.

Maybe, he thought to himself, there was indeed more to this young Black than met the eye. Maybe he would indeed bear looking into further.

And the Potter boy as well, he decided, looking at James Potter, who was staring intently at Sirius from his front-row seat. Anyone who could inspire this kind of loyalty, indeed, this kind of dread in the Dark Lord, was definitely worthy of his attention.

.

* * *

.

Betty had been no stranger to court proceedings in her youth. This was, however, the first time they had struck so close to home since her father had tried to pass a very unpopular bill in the Department of International Magical Relations.

This was also the first time she was positively stricken by the inhumane treatment the defendant was getting, and no, it wasn't just because it was her surrogate son on that chair; Betty Potter was no hypocrite. Every trial she'd attended, the wizards or witches accused had been blatantly guilty, mostly of crimes against humanity, the Wizarding Community, or both.

It had been the Global Wizarding War, then. It was sort of expected.

This war, however, was so different, so… hushed. It was more terrorism than open battles, more mind warfare than total war, which she had been so good at fighting. Her husband as well. For six years the threat of Voldemort had loomed over their heads like an anvil, and in all that time, the Lord Thingy had remained shrouded in impunity. There were no clear-cut cases against any of his followers, just a lot of suspicion, separation instead of unity… Pureblood Supremacy had, after all, been a part of the Wizarding World as long as anyone could remember, and many families, such as the Blacks, counted it as one of the core tenets for their existence. The members of the old blood in the magical community mostly shared this belief, that they were "allowing" Muggleborns to join them, but as second-rate participants at best. Even Goblins had secured a better deal after their own battles.

This had allowed the Lord Thingy to grow his support, unseen by everyone until it was too late. His secretive nature and surgical strikes had created the environment of mistrust they lived in now, had changed the way everyone thought, had turned a once caring, open community into the cesspit of suspicion they lived in now. Suspicion that in this case, was blatantly misplaced.

She had so far, endured the ordeal mostly in silence, her hands clutching her handkerchief tightly for lack of Crouch's neck to squeeze in her anger.

But she would be lying if it were only Barty she wanted to get her hands on. It was Cornelius, it was Walburga, Orion, Bellatrix. Hell, Voldemort — the whole blasted lot of them.

Betty didn't have a soul bond with Sirius like James did, so she didn't have the insight her son had… But she didn't need it.

For ten years she'd known Sirius Black, the hyperactive, ever-optimistic boy who'd found his way into her son's life and all of their hearts.

And for those ten years, they'd not seen what was right in front of them.

She was at a point where she wasn't even sure if she and Coop had _chosen_ to overlook what was now blatantly obvious, or if Sirius had really been _that_ good at hiding the abuse she was only now hearing an incredibly diluted version of.

Sure, there were signs.

The boy hadn't liked to be touched — they'd chalked it up to the Black Manner — or known any children's songs or games. He had called Muggleborns 'Mudbloods'. He'd been indifferent to scrapes and accepted time-outs in the corner with a wide grin, like he couldn't believe his luck the few times Betty had had to put an end to the insane schemes he and James got up to.

How blind she'd been.

Oh, she _had_ talked to Coop about what he'd seen in the Pensieve — poor man hadn't been able to sleep properly since — and she was nothing if not aware of everything Sirius was struggling with right now, so his words didn't come as a shock to her.

It was what he _didn't_ say, the matter-of-fact way in which he described how the Imperius hadn't worked on him for _years_ , the way he found it funny that his hag of a mother had ended up bringing Voldemort himself to "sort him out".

Coop had told her, yes. But seeing it through her newly-opened eyes was an entirely different beast.

And then there were the things he did say, the tiny inflections in his voice when he spoke of something that was close to his heart. Those mere instants that broke the monotone he was speaking in, the quirk of lips and occasional brightening when the Sirius she had come to love like her own shone through the haze of the truth potion.

"My mother called him. Not James' Mum," Sirius had said, and her heart couldn't but melt at the warmth in his tone. "The other one, the hag one. She was… she asked him to take me away."

"Why?"

"She can't stand me, I guess. B-because I'm not a proper Black, you see. They say I'm a blood traitor and a Muggle-loving fool, but Mrs. P., that's my new Mum, she says that's nothing to be ashamed of," he had explained. "And she — the hag one — wanted me to get out of the way."

There were so many things wrong with that statement alone, Betty felt her heart breaking all over. But there were so many things that were _right_ with Sirius where they hadn't before, she couldn't but swell with pride. Just the fact he considered her his Mum was such a gargantuan leap from what he'd been when James brought him in… The concept had been completely alien to him.

This, at least, was changing.

Betty prayed to the gods that she'd be allowed to continue being part of that change in him. The very real threat of Barty taking him away from her was more than she could stand.

She listened to his account of what (or rather, who), exactly, had made him stand up to his tyrannical family, to the Dark Lord himself, and she found herself watching her son more closely too.

James hadn't stirred since Sirius was given the Veritaserum, and Merlin, he was completely focused on his best friend, that brother he'd chosen for himself all those years ago, who'd done the impossible for them, and whom, she was sure, he would do the same for and more.

Betty wanted to hold him, but thought better of it. James didn't look worried. He was miles away, and she'd seen that look in his eyes before.

He was inside Sirius' mind.

Those two had concocted some kind of plan, she was sure, and she watched them both as Sirius retold his escape from his mother's house — the hag one, to quote him — after getting "thrown around a bit too much for his liking".

Every time Sirius seemed to hesitate or get tongue-tied, James would stir, too.

_Clever, clever boys._

James was _coaching_ Sirius through every step of this infernal interrogation. At the very least, Betty was sure, he was lending his support in ways nobody else could; not even her.

"Do you really think we'll believe that story?" Fudge piped up, jolting Betty from her reverie. "Very likely, a _schoolboy_ like you, surviving all of _that_."

"I don't care if you believe it or not," said Sirius. "That's exactly what happened."

"Anyone would have died after all those spells you listed," Fudge insisted, crossing his arms over his ample belly. "Imperius, Cruciatus, Bone-Shattering Curses… I don't think any of the honourable members of the Wizengamot believe this absurd story, either."

"If they'd wanted me dead back then, I'd be dead," Sirius answered, and there was that tone again, like what he was saying should be obvious to everyone. "But they… they didn't want to kill me until…Well, it was like, way later. They were just, y'know, ticked off."

"So you're saying it could've been worse?"

"Loads worse. I got lucky, I guess. They didn't expect me to jump out the window."

"Really? _Prove it_ , boy. I bet you can't, can you?" Fudge's voice was dripping with loathing. Sirius just looked at the fat wizard, then around him, with unseeing eyes. He was clearly lost, hunting for the words, ended up focusing on his hands. Next to her, James shook his head ever so slightly, his eyes fixed on Sirius' own.

"Black." Shacklebolt prompted. Sirius' head snapped up. He looked worn out already. "Is there anything you can say to respond to the prosecution?" Sirius stared at him, then shook his head, but since he had little control over it, it was more of a negative waggle.

"I'm sorry. I don't… I don't have the words for it."

"Can you _show_ me?"

Next to Betty, James sucked in a breath.

" _Don't_ , Sirius," he whispered.

A moment later, she and Coop did the same: For an answer, Sirius suddenly shrugged off his robes, then, with a great deal of difficulty and much chain rattling, unbuttoned his shirt and tore down the stained gauze pads and bandages that covered his midriff. There were many gasps and hisses at the grisly sight she'd grown used to looking at; from belly to throat, he was covered in a collection of deep, jagged scars and angry red marks, most of which hadn't fully healed yet.

He hadn't been out of a scrap long enough for them to.

Betty's stomach plummeted, but an instant later, she rushed forward. It was a mark how shocked everyone was, that none of the Aurors moved to stop her until she was already at Sirius' side, fuming.

Shacklebolt waved them off, even as the babble broke out anew. It was different this time, however: those muttering angrily before, suddenly changed their tune. Even Fudge's mouth had shut with an audible _snap_.

"I think that's quite enough Tiberius," she lashed out, moving to help Sirius back into his clothes. "You heard him, he wouldn't, and _didn't_ kill anyone. Stop this nonsense already, he needs rest, not to be put on display like this. It's demeaning!"

"I am sorry, Betty," Shacklebolt said, earnestly shocked. "I didn't know."

"You should have _asked us_ , shouldn't you?" she snapped, then turned to Sirius, started checking him over and deftly righting at least some of the more important bandages on him. "You don't need to do this sort of thing again, sweetie. They're not worth it."

"They don't believe me, do they." It wasn't a question, delivered in the same detached tone Sirius had been using until now. Even in his state, he didn't miss much.

"Of course they believe you, Sirius. You told them nothing but the truth."

"I did from the start. Still I had to take that... that stuff just to get them to bloody _listen_."

"Some people can't spot a clue if it's dancing naked in front of them, honey," Betty told him bracingly, and pulled him into a hug. Sirius tensed up at first — he always did — but then he slumped heavily against her. She could feel him shivering even inside his warm coat, could feel how tired he was. Sirius needed some quality care, not this sort of treatment.

But there was nothing for it, they would all have to endure this torture… and hope he'd recover from this, as well.

Betty took a handkerchief from her pocket, to wipe Sirius' sweaty face with.

"I don't feel so well, Mrs. P."

"Where does it hurt, Pumpkin?"

"My back's killing me. And my leg. And my head feels so heavy… I'm _tired_."

Well. At least there was one thing Veritaserum was good for. It was the first time she got a straight answer to that question.

"I don't think I can do this."

"You're doing great," she encouraged him. "Chin up, honey. It'll be over soon."

"They'll send me away, though, won't they. With those… those _things_." Sirius craned his neck around, to where Betty, too, felt the tendrils of cold worming their way deep inside her.

"No, they _won't_ send you away. And don't look at them, you'll only feel worse."

"But they're right over there."

"I know. Let's not talk about those things now, okay?"

"Okay."

"Let us get these on instead, shall we..." Sirius nodded, letting her right his shirt for him. He looked dazed and pensive, but mostly tired. So very tired.

"But they don't believe me, Mrs. P." he said after a moment. "They think I'm like the other Blacks. I'll go to Azkaban, like Crouch said. He promised he'll throw away the key and everything… I don't think he'd let you visit, either. He's just… mean."

_Mean is the absolute mildest epithet that man deserves._

"No, sweetie. They'd be fools to send you there. Besides, I won't allow it, neither will Coop, or James. You're coming home with us after. Here, sit up a little straighter... There we go." Betty's fingers flew over his buttons, righting his robes in a practised manner.

She lingered a little longer, pushed his fringe back, but went largely unnoticed. Sirius had disengaged again and was now staring at Mad-Eye's hooked peg leg. Only then did she notice the Auror had returned to the room and taken a seat in the stands, a few seats away from Coop. Their ashen expressions mirrored hers.

"Who did that, Black?" Shacklebolt asked, as Betty returned to her seat, trying to hold back tears. James emerged from his meditative state to give her his hanky, and found himself enveloped in a big hug.

"We've _got_ to get him away from this place," she told him at a whisper. James patted her shoulder, but she could see how shaken he was. Shaken and angry.

"We will, Mum, don't worry. I'll be damned if I let this go on much longer."

Foul language wasn't something she'd ever allowed to come from his mouth, but Betty found it expressed her own state of mind perfectly, so she let it slide.

This once.

She kissed James on the forehead.

"Remind him we are here for him, sweetie."

"Don't worry, Mum. He knows."

.

* * *

.

Nina stepped out of the classroom fully, her eyes scanning the scuff marks all over the floor right outside her door.

" _Shite_."

Cursing had never been one of her strengths, and she found it did little to help right now.

She crouched on the floor, her nose nearly touching the flagstones that lined the corridor.

She sniffed it once, twice, eyes closed. There were may scents to sift through here, and part of her was praying it wouldn't be anyone from Slytherin.

Then again, the whole of her was hoping that whoever it was, they hadn't heard a thing.

She really should have put up a Privacy Charm, at least. But she'd been so dizzy and nauseous she'd plain forgotten.

 _Gah_.

She'd never hear the end of it.

Suddenly…

 _There_.

She caught a whiff of something fresh, of _girl_. It was familiar, but not one she associated with a threat.

Nina memorised the smell.

Then, she followed it out of the Third Floor.

.

* * *

.

"So, I hope the _prosecution_ is satisfied with the proof you offered and _won't interrupt us again_ ," Shacklebolt said, giving Crouch and Fudge a warning look.

Crouch nodded, and James was fiercely satisfied that he looked shocked to his core. It was just sad it had come to this to make him listen, like Sirius said. Fudge had merely broken out in wet-looking red blotches, but James wasn't about to get picky.

He was still fully focused on his brother's failing awareness, which he realised, was how Veritaserum worked at its deepest. It wore you out, so you couldn't possibly fight it and ended up blurting out your answers.

"Let us resume your tale. You already told us how you escaped from London."

Sirius nodded wearily. James would never tell her this, but his Mum had just done more harm than good. Sirius had just gotten a reminder of what he would lose, if he ended up going to prison.

He was panicking inside now he had realised he might never get to see her again.

 _You'll see her again, Sirius, don't be daft. You need to focus, though, okay?_ James reached out in his mind, but Sirius was caught in a loop of dread that wouldn't let him think.

"Where did you go?"

"I…"

 _Remember your oaths,_ James cried out his warning yet again. _Don't tell them where you went._

_But he's asking, James. You heard him._

_You swore!_

"I went to... I went away from the city."

"Right, yes, we know that already. But where did you go, exactly?"

"N-north… I… I don't really know. I remember I tried to hide at the Stantons', that's the name, yeah? I tried to hide in their house, but the Death Eaters caught up. Blew it to bits. I had to, I had to run again."

"Where did you go?" Shacklebolt pressed on.

"I went to… to…" Sirius was struggling now.

In his mind's eye, a letter appeared, written in Alfie's loopy hand. Ellie, the old elf, silhouetted by a fire. But there was no warmth to be had there, either. Only feelings of misery, of regret, of guilt… and a deep, pervasive cold that only seemed to get sharper the longer passed.

Sadly, James was too caught up trying to maintain contact with Sirius to notice how the torches were beginning to flicker, how he was unconsciousy trying to huddle in his coat just like Sirius was.

He'd regret it soon.

 _He keeps asking me, James._ Sirius was desperate, his throat itching to utter the words that would doom his uncle despite his every effort.

_Yeah, he won't stop. But you swore, Pads. Nothing's more important than that._

_I know. I just wish he'd lay off._

" _Where_ , Black?"

"Please," Sirius said flatly, eyes fixed on the Hit Wizard's boots. "Don't ask me that." Shacklebolt clearly hadn't expected that answer. "I don't want to tell you. I _won't_ , I... I _can't_ tell you."

"Why?"

Sirius hesitated again. It looked like he was just getting tongue-tied, but James knew he was fighting the Veritaserum with all his might.

 _You can tell him about the oath,_ James told him, heart hammering as much as Sirius' was. _Just not what you swore not to tell_.

"I swore. And I won't break an oath I swore."

"Even if it would exonerate you?" Shacklebolt asked keenly.

"I am not a killer. I'm not an oath-breaker, either."

"Why did you swear an oath at all?"

"Because I _had_ to," Sirius said wretchedly. "If I told you... all in public like this… _They'd_ hear about it. They'd kill them all."

"Why? Who would they kill?"

"I don't want to tell you who. Because they helped me."

"Alright. So, _someone_ helped you, fair enough. What did they do? Can you tell me that at least?"

"Sent their… tried to... to help. I was hid in this cellar... and... and... No. I can't really remember, and I don't want to. _Just, stop_." Sirius was earnestly distraught, and James wished he could say something to _make_ them stop, but he was glued to his chair like everyone else. He wasn't calling it a victory yet, but it _had_ worked. The oaths had just protected Alfie, his own family. And Sirius' peace of mind.

 _Good man, Sirius!_ James praised.

_I feel like I'm going to be sick._

_You just saved Alfie!_ James informed. _You just saved Mum and Dad and old McAlpin, even Poops!_

 _I did?_ Sirius' relief washed over him like a breath of fresh air.

 _Yeah_. _Shacklebolt just accepted your answer._

"All right, that seems reasonable," Shacklebolt confirmed. "You had some help. What happened then?"

"I... I had to go. To... to Hogwarts, to find Dumbledore."

"Why Dumbledore?"

"He's one of the people who can break the Tristram Trace."

"What's the Tristram Trace?"

"They used it to track me. They always knew where I was. They always followed, no matter where I went."

"Why didn't you go to the Potters?"

"And lead the Death Eaters right to their door?" Now Sirius stared at Shacklebolt as if he was dim. "I might not always do the right thing, but I'm not _that_ thick. And I thought… I thought, maybe… Dumbledore might help."

"Why would he help you?"  
"Well, he wouldn't _have_ to, you know, if he didn't want to. I just, dunno, hoped he would. I don't know, I wasn't thinking straight. But I never got to Hogwarts anyway. Not then."

"Where did you go?"

"I… I remember I was suddenly in Wales. It's all jumbled, sorry."

"Just try to tell me as much as you can recall."

.

* * *

.

Marlene McKinnon couldn't believe what just had happened.

It started innocently enough: she'd been looking for Nina, who had looked ill all morning, and after the incident with the Slytherins during Charms class, she hadn't seemed herself at all.

Not that Marlene could blame the new Ravenclaw; she'd gotten herself on the Slytherin most hated list — probably because she was immediately associated with the Potter gang, as most of the school referred to James and his friends, especially Sirius Black.

None of the students had missed how Sirius seemed to know her, as did James and Remus and Peter. The instant he got out of the lake, Sirius had made a beeline for her, and thus, had given her already intriguing status an additional _thing_ to speculate about.

And speculation was rife. Marlene was _very_ well-informed in that regard.

She didn't have a thing for Black or Potter, not since fourth year at least, so maybe that was the reason she didn't absolutely loathe the newcomer outright, but she couldn't deny she was curious. The new girl apparently had studied in Germany, home-schooled or something, until her entire family was killed off by the Dark Side. Other than that, and that she had come to England to live with her uncle, who so happened to be the head of the Department of Mysteries, nobody really knew anything about her. Just that Sirius Black seemed to like her, and the rest of his friends seemed to know her as well.

So yeah, Marlene was a bit more than intrigued. She'd always been a sucker for mystery.

That's how she went to look for Nina McAlpin. She knew they both had a free period, and maybe the new girl could use the company. If she cared that much about Sirius, and it really seemed that she did, then today was especially difficult for her already.

Sirius and James had been picked up during breakfast by James' parents, to take Sirius to the trial, and Marlene would be lying if she said that was the end of the gossip flying around the school. She was a friend of theirs, so she hoped Sirius would come back, all charges against him dropped — but it wasn't a certain thing, was it? He could still do time for exposing magic to Muggles.

Everyone had been in a state of a nervous sort of anxiety ever since, and by third period Marlene had heard it all — from the dress robes the boys were wearing, to the million theories about the outcome of the trial, to the new bet about how long Sirius would be sent to Azkaban (thank you again, Myron)… it was endless.

The Slytherins, Sirius' cousin Narcissa and Severus Snape in particular, were only too happy to share their views loudly in the hallways… and using written notes during class.

Snape and his goons had sent Nina notes all the time during lessons, from crude cartoons showing Sirius in chains, to open mockery of her bad luck, as her "love" would never be let out of prison.

"Well, serves her right," Snape had muttered loud enough for them all to hear. "She threw in her lot with the ultimate blood traitor, didn't she. And now she'll never see him again."

"Boo hoo," Emma Vanity had said, and Nina had snapped a moment later.

Flitwick had given her detention, along with the Slytherins involved, and all Nina had said was, "It was completely worth it." Then she'd left the class, and Flitwick had to sort though the tangle of hair that had bound them up together. The tiny professor had to end up shaving Snape, just to be able to free them all from his matted mane.

The news spread like wildfire, and by lunchtime, Nina was, once more, the one thing everyone talked about.

Marlene had thought she might need a friendly shoulder to cry on, or some company at least. She herself was worried sick about the outcome of the trial, of which they didn't have any news yet either.

So, when she spotted the girl climbing the stairs to the Third Floor and turning into a disused corridor, Marlene followed suit, just in case she was lost or something.

For the record: she wasn't.

The staircase Marlene was on decided to turn away from the Third Floor before she could get off, so it took her an additional while to enter the dusty old place.

Anyone with eyes, she thought, could see this was a little-used section of the school, not out-of-bounds officially, but… Who in their right minds would want to come here? She was sure there were enormous spiders lurking in the shadows.

All in all, following Nina's progress was easy: Marlene could tell Filch hadn't gotten around to sweeping the place in ages — usually it was James and Sirius who got landed with the job, and since last term, nobody seemed to have touched the place. All Marlene had to do was follow Nina's footprints in the dirt coating the floor.

They went a fair way, turned into badly-lit corridors, and ended at a door.

Marlene's plan had been to call for the other girl, but something stopped her. There were voices coming from the other side.

She heard a man's laugh, Nina's clear voice, but she couldn't quite make out the words.

"You're doing great," she heard the man say. "Just … James and Sirius … in the dark … who you are, and try to get a hold on … Aurors —"

Gah, they were too far away to properly eavesdrop on. Intrigued, Marlene whispered a charm to listen through the crack under the door.

"… and we don't know who's in charge of warding the grounds and castle yet."

 _What_?

"And be careful. You know those boys are sharp and won't take kindly to any intrusion. Now Sirius is awake you can't hide in his dreams anymore, Nina. You've got to learn to block yourself off."

Now Marlene was _really_ curious. What was this all about? Hiding in Sirius' dreams? And what was that about wards?

"But I can't stop caring," Nina said. "It's not that simple." The voices were a little more hushed now, and Marlene did the best to get closer to the floor, ear pressed against the door.

"I know," answered the man, just as her breathing made a cloud of dust fly up. "but it's all I have." Marlene gasped, covering her mouth to keep from coughing. "Use the Hellion method, at least for a little— did you hear that?"

 _Bugger_.

Marlene raffled herself up as fast as she could and ran for it, her mind racing as fast as her feet were.

What the hell was that all about? It didn't sound like a normal conversation by far, and it didn't sit right with her. Maybe, she thought, it would be a good idea to tell the Aurors. Now, where would she find them?

Gah, they were all over the place and now she couldn't spot a single one!

She raced down the Second Floor, turned a corner—

And crashed bodily into Remus Lupin.

"Marlene! Are you all right?" he asked, helping her up. Marlene shook her head, spooked.

"I just saw… I heard… and, and I ran, because they heard—" she stammered. Remus just looked at her, puzzled.

"What happened?" he asked, leading her to a nearby bench.

"It's that new girl. Nina. She's… she was…" Marlene shook her head. "I need to find the Aurors."

"Whoa, whoa, wait. What do you mean by that?" Remus asked, alarmed. "What did you see, Marlene?"

"I didn't really see anything," she confessed. "I thought Nina was lost when she went to the Third Floor, you know, and I was trying to find her. I thought she was lost." Marlene explained what she'd overheard, about the man's voice and the cryptic things they'd been talking about.

"Hiding in Sirius' _dreams_?"

"That's what he said, he told her to block herself off. That's more or less the last I heard," Marlene admitted. "They heard me, I think, so I ran for it. Remus! You've got to help me find the Aurors."

"No, not yet," Remus replied, frowning. "We can't just go accusing someone of… of what, exactly? Did you hear anything else suspicious?"

"Just that he was telling her to, I think, keep something from James and Sirius," Marlene admitted. "And that they didn't know who's in charge of warding the castle and grounds. Do you think she's, you know, with the Dark Side?"

"That's the thing," Remus said. "She's known Sirius since the Summer, and they've become good friends. I've hung out with her a few times, and…" he shook his head. "I've got nothing. Sirius trusts her, and so does James…"

"But what if she's a spy? Someone sent here by the Dark Side to… to bring the school down or something? Remus, what if she's only pretending to be their friend?"

"Maybe she isn't," Remus replied, more firmly. Marlene made to jump up and go to the Aurors herself, but he caught her by the wrist. "Then again, maybe she is. Why don't we find out what's what? Just, you know, the two of us." Marlene sat back down as Remus blushed furiously. "I mean, if we find out what's really going on, maybe even get proof, we go to the Aurors."

"Deal," said Marlene. "She's in my House, so I might find out about the man she was talking to. But, Remus… are you sure this is the right thing to do?"

"I know Sirius likes her. Well, a bit more than that," Remus said. "He wouldn't forgive us if we accused her of something and it turns out to be nothing. Like they're doing with him." He fell silent, shrugged his shoulders. "I don't want to be the one who breaks that news to him. Not unless we're completely sure."

"Do you think they'll convict him?" asked Marlene, looking into Remus' honey-coloured eyes. He looked troubled, and she realised with a pang she'd just added to it.

"I… I honestly don't know. He didn't kill anyone," he replied. "But, he did break a few laws… and, you know, a house." Marlene let out a small laugh despite herself. "And a street. And Crouch has a grudge against all Blacks, he had a feud with Sirius' dad."

"But Sirius is not like that."

"Tell Crouch that. I don't know, Marlene. He just might do time."

"He won't," she tried to reassure him. "It's self-defence. My mum works legal in the Ministry. She told me that unless they have hard evidence against him, they can't convict him."

"I hope you're right."

"Me, too."

.

* * *

.

Sirius retold every detail of the one thing James wished he could rewind and do differently. If he had, nothing would have happened the way it had. Sirius might have managed to get to Hogwarts. He might have gotten Dumbledore to get the Tristram Trace off him. Might have ended up in Azkaban.

Okay, so the alternatives weren't anything to boast about.

James still regretted that he fell for the Death Eater posing as Sirius that day.

Sirius managed to clear yet another hurdle, when he explained how he'd found out that James was being duped by a fake Sirius.

"I saw the Death Eaters," he told Shacklebolt. "Bellatrix and her husband. And… and I saw, and I heard. They had polyjuiced someone as me to, to fool the Potters, and. They were in danger, I had to distract them." That Sirius had heard James in his head, that he'd seen through his eyes, and it was him who needed to be distracted before he fell into a trap, went unsaid. Not without a major struggle on Sirius' part.

Shacklebolt accepted it without question, moved on to the bits he and the Ministry were more interested in.

Sirius described how he ran from the Death Eaters, how they called for reinforcements, how he slipped and fell and ended up at the feet of that Muggle girl who had tried to help him, who'd been kind to him and died for it.

"If I had fought back sooner… if I'd just not slipped." Sirius said, his tone no longer detached or dazed, but filled with sadness. He swallowed back a lump growing in his throat. "She stopped to help me. She was kind, said she'd take me to her father, that he'd help. She just didn't know." Sirius paused, shook his heavy head. "She dropped her groceries. I tried to make her leave, tried to tell her she was in danger, but then, she pulled me down, away from that Slashing Curse, and there was blood _everywhere_. I tried to stop it, but. I just _couldn't_. She was so frightened, didn't know what was going on.

"Rodolphus cast another Slashing Curse, but she was holding on to me, so he missed again, it just hit me in the leg… A lot of curses do that lately."

"Was Rodolphus trying to kill you?" Shacklebolt asked. Sirius shrugged one shoulder.

"It's hard to tell with him even at the best of times. He never aims, doesn't care what he hits as long as he hits _something_. So, they killed her. They needn't have done it. They didn't care, like it was nothing. And… And I got angry. I was so mad, because she was kind to me, and I should have fought them sooner. I mean, that's what we're supposed to do, right? Protect those who can't do magic from that sort of thing? I just didn't… not until it was too late."

"Did you have a wand?"

"I got a hold of one, yeah. After I escaped the Stantons' house."

Which was true, in a way. James had to admire how Sirius navigated around the trickier bits, Veritaserum or no.

"Why didn't you use it before?"

"And get on the wrong side of the Ministry for illegal magic?" Sirius snorted, shook his head. "I wasn't about to risk it… but then, I don't think I had much of a choice. You never do once the Killing Curses start. It's fight back or get out of there… and I couldn't really walk."

"Will somebody tell her dad?" Sirius asked after a moment's thought.

"What do you mean?"

"It's this thing she said. I couldn't remember until now. She told me to run, that they'd kill me if I stayed. To tell her dad she loved him. Will someone tell him? When I go to Azkaban?"

"I'm sure we can work something out," Shacklebolt promised with a smile. He didn't reassure Sirius, but James was almost daring to hope that Sirius wouldn't be sent away.

"Okay."

"Tell me about the Death Eaters, Sirius. Did you recognise any of them?"

"'Course I did. I grew up with them, didn't I?"

"How many Death Eaters were there?"

"I don't know, I didn't stop to take attendance."

"But you saw them. Could you tell us who was there?"

"Apart from the Lestranges, there was Lucius Malfoy—"

A ripple of voices rose yet again. Dumbledore took it upon himself to call to order.

"Silence!" the old Headmaster snapped. "Let him speak."

"But Lucius Malfoy! That's _preposterous_!"

"He's ever such a good lad," another said.

"And yet, he was _there_ ," Sirius pointed out shortly. "I'd know that silvery tosspot anywhere."

"Who else was there, Sirius?"

"I saw Avery, two of the Carrows — Voldemort, sorry, the Lord Thingy. He sort of did away with the eldest, only the twins were left. And I saw Dolohov, and uh… Yaxley, the younger…" Sirius continued listing off names, most of which James had never heard before. Some elicited a reaction from the crowd, particularly some of the members of the Wizengamot, others were accepted with an almost businesslike air, as though they were expected.

Throughout, Shacklebolt prompted Sirius to continue and remember things, and James was aware of how little detail Sirius had had about his arrival in Wales. The Veritaserum was embedded so deep in his psyche, it was making information surface that Sirius himself hadn't known he'd had.

But it was a draining process; before long, Sirius was beginning to slur his words, pausing more often for a breather, as if he were running a marathon. The cold he felt was biting now, and something dark and frightful was eating away at his awareness, filling his ears with the rush of an unseen wind.

"You fought off _all_ those Death Eaters?"

"I was _angry_ ," Sirius repeated.

"They could've killed you."

"I wouldn't have had to run anymore."

Sirius was made to describe every detail he remembered of the battle, every single spell he'd cast and why. It would have made for a brilliant story any other time, but James was acutely aware of Fudge scribbling furiously away, jotting down every spell Sirius listed off with such satisfaction, James felt only more worried.

"I got caught in a cul-de-sac," Sirius said at the end of his account. And then I was suddenly on the hill by James' house."

"How did you get there?"

"I _think_ I apparated. I tried to leave the Hollow, but I lost a bit of my leg… and they caught up while I was looking for it. Then James arrived… They tried to take him. I tried to send him back."

"What happened?"

"I can't really remember what happened. It's all sketchy." Sirius bit his lip, searching his mind. It was all disconnected, fuzzy images at best, a confusion of smells, spells, and voices, most prominently James' own. And underneath it all, a deep, all-consuming worry for James, the sensation that, no matter how hard he tried, the Lord Thingy was right after all: he'd brought the Death Eaters to Godric's Hollow. He shook his head to clear it, but couldn't shake the memory.

"What's the next thing you remember?" Shacklebolt prompted.

"I don't know," Sirius admitted. "Darkness, mostly. Everything hurt and I couldn't move."

He'd been dying then. James was more than a little alarmed when he realised Sirius had _wanted_ to die. Not just on Godric's Hill, when he'd tried to get himself killed, but later as well. It was one of his better memories, that warm sort of darkness he'd spent most of the first few weeks in. He _missed_ it.

"The first thing I remember after that is…" Sirius tried to coax the answer from his throbbing head. In the end, he let out a sigh, shrugged his response. "Lights in the sky? Sorry, I can't recall. There's _nothing_ until like, mid-January."

There _wasn't_ nothing, James knew. There was nothing Sirius wanted to tell Shacklebolt, maybe, but he did recall quite a bit more than he was letting on: James saw flashes of himself, his parents' faces, the things they'd tell him to keep him on this side of the veil, just for a bit longer… And strongest of all the memory of being held and supported and made to smile, of being cared for, genuinely loved, for the first time in his life.

Oh, he remembered, alright. Every word they'd said to him, every touch, even things he'd been too out of it for. He just wouldn't ever let it on, not to anyone. He'd buried this deeper even than his worse memories, someplace so strongly hidden, nobody could ever find it. His identity as Padfoot was right out in the open in comparison.

James wondered why.

"What happened, Potter?" jolted him from his trip into Sirius' best-kept secret.

James went ramrod straight. This wasn't something he'd expected to happen.

"Can you complete the story for us, please?" Shacklebolt had turned towards him, as did everyone else.

"Uh. Yeah. Sorry," said James.

 _What's going on?_ Sirius wanted to know. A glance told James his conscious mind was, once more, wandering the bloody ether, on standby until he was asked something else.

_He wants me to tell him what happened when I took you home._

_Don't tell him you did,_ Sirius advised. He sounded more lucid now than he had all day.

_Pads?_

_Yeah?_

_He **is** bloody scary._

Sirius laughed in his mind, a barking laugh which James hadn't heard in forever.

_Glad to know I still manage to amuse you._

_Always, Potter. But you were right. He's scary, but fair._

_He does look like he wants you for brekkers._

_Make him laugh,_ Sirius suggested.

_Does that work?_

_No, but at least it'll be funny._

No, Sirius wasn't lucid at all, James decided. And Shacklebolt was silently urging him to get on with it.

James swallowed, took a deep breath.

"We'd just been attacked by a bunch of Death Eaters, one of them was polyjuiced into Sirius, like he said. I didn't realise it wasn't really him until they attacked. And later, when the Aurors were securing the house, I saw these lights on Godric's Hill. That's right opposite my house. Sirius was there, and there were Death Eaters after him, he was fighting them off, so I went to try and help."

"He said he was trying to send you back?"

"Yes, sir. But I couldn't just leave him there, could I."

And then he told the Hit Wizard a heavily-edited version of what had happened on Godric's Hill: How Sirius had been fighting the Death Eaters, how he'd saved James himself from getting blasted to bits and ended up mostly dead, how he'd struggled to give James time to go home.

"He didn't want to go with you?"

"No, he said it was too dangerous. That they — the Death Eaters — would know."

When he reached the bit where he had, indeed, charmed some trees to whack at the Death Eaters and taken Sirius home, though, he hesitated. Looked at his Dad for help.

"Tell him everything, James," was the answer. "There's no need to hide it any longer."

So James did.

"I _knew_ it!" Crouch shouted, suddenly on his feet as though this were his cue. "That's six months in Azkaban, for you, boy! Underage magic is expressly forbidden, even for the likes of you! And don't get me started on _your_ sentences, _Potters_!"

James whipped around to stare at the wizard, dread pooling in his stomach like lead.

" _What?!_ " the Potters chorused.

 _No,_ said Sirius' voice.

"Don't give me that tone," Crouch yelled, his face contorted in an incredibly unflattering grimace of joy. "All three of you are hereby accused of harbouring a criminal, and don't go thinking for a minute that this court will let the matter slide!"

"What he did was self-defence, Barty!" James' Dad yelled, gesturing at Sirius, who hadn't so much as raised his head. James' mindlink, though, flared up.

_What's that he said?! He's arresting **you** now?_

_Hold on a sec,_ James answered in his mind, even as his Dad went to his feet. A handful of Aurors did the same, made him move to the centre of the room.

"We weren't harbouring a _fugitive_ , we were protecting a _victim_ from the Dark Side's retaliation!"

"You hid the boy even when your house was searched, Potter! You _lied_ to Aurors investigating the case, and cost us hundreds of Galleons on a needless search! Clap them all in irons!"

"He was half _dead_! What makes you think we'd _ever_ let the likes of you get their hands on him?" his Mum exclaimed, as two of the Aurors took her wand from her and led her towards the dais. "Are you really _that_ insensitive, Barty?"

James wanted to argue too, but as a pair of hands took his wand away and gestured for him to follow to the defendants' area, the world did a 180.

He gripped the armrests of his chair convulsively against the blast of despair that assaulted his every fibre.

"Now listen here—" Crouch started, but James couldn't hear if the wizard said anything else: Once again, it was as though he were falling, but this time he was plunging into the nightmare he'd tried to keep at arm's length all day; his sudden panic had done it, left him wide open for the onslaught— the cold became biting, unbearably harsh.

The darkness that had been eating at his awareness since the Aurors had shackled him engulfed him once more, bringing with it the dreaded rush of fear, of guilt, of regret. Out of instinct, he tried to cover his head, but there were chains holding him in place, that chair held him fast as memories succeeded themselves like a choppy, badly-edited reel: there were curses, voices calling him a blood-traitor, a disgrace, a waste of their precious blood, making him do things he didn't want to do, searching, _searching_ for that one memory he wished he could erase from his soul, as a hissing voice filled his ears: _"Crucio_."

Pain tore through James, making him writhe uncontrollably against his bonds. Teeth barred, he tried to keep it under control, tried to fight against the chains holding him fast — but it was useless: For the second time that day, James lost the battle for his mind.

" _Not Snuffles, Father! Don't hurt him, please!"_ James was eight, desperately holding onto his beloved furball as if that could save them both from what was to come. What he _knew_ would happen, because it already had.

He'd tried pleading for mercy for the first time, then. For forgiveness, for hiding the dog in his room from his father.

It had also been the last time he begged anyone for anything, ever again.

Especially for such an imaginary thing as _mercy_. That day, he'd found out it didn't exist, just like forgiveness, understanding, Father Christmas, and the Easter Bunny.

Time healed everything, they said; everything, maybe, but not _this_.

James struggled against the damn chair, tried to cover his head to keep the memory from surfacing— he didn't want to see this, not _this, not now_ …

One slip-up was all it took, one distraction, and now those _things_ had managed to get into his mind again, had dug their invisible claws straight into his past and unearthed his worst memory… and now, his world was ending all over again. He wasn't strong enough to make it stop, not anymore. He'd kept it at bay since he'd woken up and the trial started.

And again, he'd failed.

All he could do was beg for the first time, to be forgiven, plead for the first time, for mercy that wouldn't come. For a sort of understanding he'd never again seek from anyone.

" _Not him! He's my friend, Father, send him away, do whatever you like, but **don't** hurt him! It's my fault, punish me instead, he's just a baby! Please, I'll do anything you want, Father, **anything**! Please, please don't hurt Snuffles!"_

He'd tried to explain how he'd found the puppy, lost and wet and cold, and had _pity_ on it. How they'd become _friends_ , how Snuffles _trusted_ him, _depended_ on him. How he made him _happy_ , followed him everywhere he went and made his room less daunting at night.

James tried to explain how much he _loved_ him. But he didn't have the vocabulary to say any of those things, back then. He'd only come to understand what those words meant a few weeks ago.

It made everything so much worse, now.

" _Oh, it's not_ I _who shall hurt the mutt, Sirius,"_ his father answered coldly. Waited for James to look at him with hope. With _gratitude._ The sick _bastard_. _"You shall. Imperio_."

Panicking, James realised it wasn't him who was remembering this, tried to return to his own mind—

He yanked himself free. Instantly, the memory's grip weakened, other sounds assaulted his senses.

"Have you gone deaf? He's innocent!" his father — his own one — was snapping at Crouch. "He's not a criminal, everything he did was to protect us, so stop treating him like dirt under your shoe just because his last name is Black!"

"James, are you all right?"

He was suddenly staring into his mother's worried eyes, hands gripping the armrests of his chair for all he was worth. For an answer, his eyes wandered to look at Sirius. He didn't trust himself to speak.

"Oh. _Gods_." His mother, thankfully, didn't need his words to react.

On the chair, Sirius was having a fit that reminded James of the ones he'd had when he was stuck in the Pensieve, except this time, he hadn't passed out. He was frantically yanking at the chains holding him fast, turning this way and that with an expression of deep despair and breathing in choked gasps. Somehow, he had been plunged into a terrible scene of his past.

The reason for this became obvious when James turned to the far end of the room: The Dementors had almost finished depleting the Patronii, and now were once more reaching out for his friend across the large chamber. It was as if they couldn't get enough, and as a wave of cold made him shiver and Sirius convulse, James suddenly realised they had been at it all day.

" _Stop_!" James' Mum interrupted the arguing wizards. "Help him! The Dementors—"

This time, everyone listened, but to James, it was as though the Aurors were moving in slow motion.

"No… _No_ …" Sirius sobbed out. The next moment, a broken cry rent the air, chilling everyone to the bone as it grew to a scream as unearthly as before. He was falling apart again, right before James' eyes. And to his horror, this time James knew exactly why. His heart broke right alongside Sirius', while his every fibre strained to recoil from Sirius' memory, like it was acid.

James didn't run from it.

He forced himself to reach out instead, tried to be there for Sirius as best he could. Right now, sharing the burden seemed the only thing he _could_ do.

 _I'm here, Sirius_ , he told him, trying to draw Sirius' attention from what he was being forced to do in his memory, tried to fill his ears with something that wasn't his kid self's agonised cries, the tortured screams of his only other best friend, the only other being that had trusted him blindly. Away from the blood, from his frantic, ultimately failed attempts to disobey his father's commands.

This was the last time the Imperius worked on Sirius. Whenever the curse was cast afterwards, part of him remembered _this_ and broke free out of instinct.

Every time.

_Sirius, come with me. Look away from there._

_I did this— Gods, James, I did **this**._ Sirius' voice was horrified, his emotions as raw as though it were happening for the first time all over.

_It **wasn't** you, Sirius. Look away. Don't listen. That was your father. He was a monster, and he is to blame for this, not you. Focus on me, there's a good man. _

_I **can't**. _ Sirius was crashing and burning, and the Dementors filled him with a terrible sort of guilt. _I did this. I… I deserve it._

 _Oy. Stop that bullshit right now! Listen to **me** , Black!_ So it was harsh, but James couldn't think of any other way to catch his attention. _You **don't** deserve this. So stop looking at it and come with me. **Now**._

Sirius turned his attention on him, and for an instant, it was as though the world just… ceased to exist. There was no trial, no puppy named Snuffles dying at a child's unwilling hands. No chains. Just the two of them, two terrified boys who didn't know what to do now.

 _I'm here,_ James reminded Sirius as gently as he could, but no less firmly. _And I'm telling you, **that —** that wasn't you, it never was, and it won't **ever** be, not for one minute. _

_You're **nothing** like this, _ James went on _, you're the best friend anyone could have, and you don't belong to **them** anymore. You're **my brother** , Sirius. And I know, it hurts to remember. It hurts, so, **so** much. But you're not to blame, you never were. It's those monsters who should pay for it, so don't give them the satisfaction of seeing you crumble_.

 _I can't do this, James._ Sirius was past his limit, James could sense it. _I'm sorry. They won't believe me, no matter what I say. And I can't… I can't do it._

 _No, you can't._ James agreed with him. _But **together** , there's **nothing** we can't do. Remember what Dad said? As long as we're together. And I promised, didn't I? I'm not going anywhere, not ever._

The horrified sobs of a kid Sirius who was being shown what he'd done, was made to clean up his _mess_ and dump it in a bin like the rubbish he himself was, suddenly cut off. His deepest regret, that he'd rescued a life only to mess up and end up taking it, faded to the background.

That boy, whom James had cared about more than anyone even then, faded away, and _his_ Sirius surfaced again. A little more broken, a lot more exhausted, but he was _there_. James suddenly felt a warm something fill their bond, something that pushed at the darkness and sent it back to the fringes of their shared awareness.

Yes, the Dementors had done something terrible to his brother. He was shattered inside, James could sense it now, and it wasn't just the horrors he'd endured or had been forced to be a part of; it was that he couldn't put them back in their corners anymore.

But as long as there was life there was hope, and he wouldn't let it die in Sirius. He was crushed by his past, tortured and worn out — but James had now realised what _he_ could do about it. He could share the burden, could bolster up and mend what was broken.

And, James vowed, he would do just that.

He opened his eyes, to see Sirius scrubbing his hands up and down his face, shakily wiping the tears away. He was trembling, sadness and regret bleeding through their link, but the all-consuming fear and guilt were just… _gone_.

James doubted it was because the Dementors had finally been made to leave the courtroom.

 _Together?_ Sirius asked tentatively in James' mind. His conscious awareness had detached itself from the world once more, went on a hike until it was required to respond to whatever questions were asked next... But his innermost self was awake enough — barely —and willing enough to at least try one last time, and see this to its end.

 _Always_ , James responded with a sort of conviction he'd lacked until now.

Too long, it seemed, he'd been waiting for a chance to do something for his brother that wasn't merely cheering him up. He wanted to do something deeper, something _important_. He'd sensed that need in Sirius before, but he hadn't found a solution to it… until now.

It had been staring him in the face for months.

They were bonded, body, mind, soul and blood, they had for six years now. But James hadn't understood until now how powerful this bond really was. All this time, they had been operating on the dread of what would happen if Sirius was left alone to deal with Azkaban, and Crouch, and the likes of them.

But Sirius _wasn't_ alone. He would _never_ be alone. Because Sirius, like James, was only half of a whole.

Their burdens were supposed to be shared, exactly as they shared their knowledge, abilities and thoughts. James suddenly realised he'd been letting Sirius carry everything on his own for so long.

 _Breathe, Padfoot,_ James reminded Sirius in his mind. _You'll feel better in a sec_. He unwrapped a chocolate bar and took a huge bite — Even as he chewed, letting the warmth and despair wash away, Sirius got the full blast of it. He stopped shivering, the tension faded from his shoulders. His eyes slid shut the next moment, and James felt him slip into unconsciousness.

That was okay.

He needed to rest.

Sirius might be at the end of his strength, but James…

 _James_ was only just getting started.

And he'd be damned if they didn't leave this blasted courtroom within the hour.

.

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm sorry! No, I really am. I didn't think I'd ever write that scene out, ever. But I did, and it was worse than I thought. So, moral: Never say never.  
> Anyway.  
> TBC.   
> As usual, reviews make my day. Yes, you're allowed to shout at me. I deserve it. Totes.  
> Next up: the conclusion of this infernal trial, and hopefully of this infernal Friday. Rasmus plays chess, Remus plays detective. Marlene plays Auror, James is tired of this tripe, Owens gets his five minutes of fame, Coop is furious, and Dumbledore… well, there's a reason Sirius calls him Twinkle, the Wonder Professor. Also, Voldemort has to do a wee. And no, it cannot wait.


	25. Conspiracy Fridays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Sirius is right about dates, everyone and their mum gets stoned on Ministry orders, the press goes wild, Shacklebolt shamelessly plugs his Hit Wizards — okay, that sounded wrong, so very wrong — Rasmus makes first contact, Remus is conflicted and in luuurve, Snape looks like a Tibetan monk and is evil, and James decides enough's enough. Also, a verdict. As usual, totally not in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands!
> 
> If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands!
> 
> If you're happy and you know it, and this fic's your way to show it,
> 
> Then you know that you don't own it, clap your hands!

 

* * *

.

Remus Lupin's ears had long been his favourite trait. No, it wasn't that they were special or remarkable; they weren't pointy or tapered or furry and in need of a shave (at least not today; he checked). It was that he could dissect sound with as much ease as he could smells, without the added burden of having to fight off his, often overwhelming, hunting urges.

This close to the full moon, they were hard to keep in check at best, but oddly it was working out in their favour — he was following Marlene back to the Third Floor corridor where she'd overheard Nina's conversation, and it was so easy to find her scent. It prickled his nose, distinct and clear.

"This is where she was," Marlene told him, gesturing at the door where he could see smudges in the dust that completed the story he had heard moments earlier.

Nina's scent was strong here, easily spotted because of the state of disuse the corridor was in. He could scent Marlene's too, her fright lingered here still, overwhelmingly strong.

Even though he tried to focus on that alone, he couldn't but catch old whiffs of James' and Sirius' more familiar scents too. They had scrubbed this corridor weeks before the holidays… It seemed that nobody had set foot here since.

He felt a flutter of anxiety at the thought, the now familiar pang of dread that came coupled with every reminder of what his friends were doing right now.

But the wolf in him was on a hunt, fighting for the upper hand in the matter. Remus let it; there was nothing he could do about anything else, and focusing on Nina's whereabouts was the best distraction he'd had in days.

He didn't need to look at the classroom at all, but he couldn't tell Marlene that, so while she searched the place for any clues — she was inspired now — and retold the entire story all over again, Remus tried to pretend like he was looking too.

"Well, there's nothing here," he established.

"No, I didn't think there would be," Marlene replied. "But I thought there was a fireplace at least, how do you think she was communicating with that man?"

That was a surprisingly good question. Were this his closest friends, he'd have a suggestion or three — he himself was carrying a Two-Way Mirror in his pocket and waiting for James to update him on the goings-on at the Ministry — but he didn't have an answer for Marlene.

"Beats me," he said. "We should try and find her though. I'll look for her," he added before Marlene could speak up. "You go to your Common Room, maybe you'll find something there."

"All right," Marlene agreed. "I'll see you at dinner." She stepped close to him, looked him in the eye. Remus thought she looked beautiful, all flushed and excited, her eyes glinting in a way that made him nervous. He swallowed it back. "Are you sure this is the right thing to do?"

"Positive," he replied without hesitation. "If she wanted to hurt anyone she's had a lot of chances… But we should look into it anyway. Just in case."

"'Kay," she replied, as they made their way back to the Grand Staircase together.

"Dad? _Dad_!"

The voice made Remus stop in his tracks. It was faint, coming from further down the corridor they were in. It was also Nina's.

"Did you hear that?" He asked, listening intently. Marlene stopped in her tracks, her heart beating so loudly it was distracting. She shook her head, but didn't speak. At least she was smart enough not to.

"This way," Remus muttered, taking her hand. It was soft and warm. He tried not to focus on it, turned into another corridor, his nose confirming what his ears had caught. Nina was still here.

"Dad, please answer." And she wasn't supposed to have a _father_. Didn't James say her family had all been killed in Germany?

"Hey, princess. Did you need anything else?" It was another voice, male, older. Remus strained his ears, followed the faint sound as quietly as he could.

"I need to talk to him again."

"He's…"

"Someone heard me. It was Marlene, I think. I don't know if…"

"Let me get him for you."

"This way," Remus whispered, and together, he and Marlene tiptoed around a corner.

"You were _heard_?" A new voice reached Remus' ears. It sounded strangely familiar. Only not, because he was sure he had never heard it before.

"Yes," said Nina. "I didn't see who it was, but… I'm pretty sure it was Marlene McKinnon. Her scent is unmistakable."

"Did she see you?" The male asked.

Remus frowned. _Scent_? Did he mishear?

" _What_?" Marlene mouthed. Remus shook his head, followed the corridor, then took a right…

"You sure?" The male voice was asking, and now they were close enough that Marlene could hear them too. Nina was very close by.

"Yes," Nina was saying. "I'm not even sure if she overheard anything, but… Gah, I'm sorry, Will."

"It's Wilber _force_ ," the voice corrected, and to Remus' and Marlene's surprise, they were both laughing a little. This conversation didn't sound like Remus imagined it would, all dark and ominous. This was light-hearted banter.

"That's got to be the most hideous name ever created. I'd rather just call you Will."

"Fine, as you wish," said Will, as he and Marlene inched closer to another corner. They could hear the conversation quite clearly now. "You need to be careful, Nina. There's so much going on all over the place, any misguided suspicions can get out of hand. You've seen what they did to Sirius, and they bloody _saw_ him fighting the Death Eaters. They could easily do the same to you."

"Should I look for—"

"Nah, it's probably nothing. Just take it easy. And be careful. There's a hidden corridor not far from where you are now, you could always use it instead of being out in the open."

"I meant to hide better, but I felt so ill…"

"Just try and make sure nobody suspects anything next time," Will said lightly. "Everyone is so bloody jumpy it's not even funny, they're all too frightened to think straight and jump to the worst conclusions at the drop of a hat."

"I'll do that," Nina promised. "How is the trial coming on?"

Remus and Marlene exchanged a confused look. Will sighed.

That had sounded familiar too, somehow.

"It's going. I don't really know, the Wizengamot seem to be favouring Crouch's opinion just now."

"Could they send him to Azkaban?" She sounded earnestly concerned.

"I don't know. I'll let you know as soon as I know something. Or Elf can tell you, if I'm… you know. Out of it."

"Are you feeling okay?"

"Just dizzy right now. Could be worse. I keep being told to go lie down."

Remus frowned again, shrugged at Marlene. The more he listened, the more confused he was… and the less this sounded like a dark plot.

"You probably should," said Nina. "You look like you'll keel over any second."

"Ach, ye of little faith. I'll be okay. We're going to pay a few people a visit later, get our sea legs back before the big operation. Elfy and Batsie went to scope out the Evanses last night, but I don't know if we should start with them."

"Just be careful, whatever you do," said Nina, even as Remus' stomach plunged into an icy pit. There was the ominous feeling he'd feared.

"Oh, we will," said another voice; this one was female. "Come on, Mr. Force, let's get you sorted while you can still walk."

"I feel fine," groused Will.

"You don't look the part. Nina, how are you liking Hogwarts?"

"It's all right. Just too full of Aurors."

"Let's hope they'll be leaving soon. Do let us know as soon as they are gone, we wouldn't want to be recognised."

"I will. Give everyone my love, I'll talk to you later."

Whatever she was using to talk to this Will character, it disconnected a moment later. Remus and Marlene hurriedly backed off into a niche, squeezed into a dark corner behind a statue of a peacock.

He watched closely as Nina appeared, her expression tense. She stopped for a moment, listening for any noise… and was she _sniffing the air_?

She _was_.

Could it be…?

Remus' nose was working overtime, and _there_ — he hadn't noticed it before, because she'd been around James and Sirius and a million potions at the time, but now he smelled _animal_ along with _witch_.

Could it be that she was… like _him_?

He couldn't get a wolf scent from her, but that was mostly because Marlene was so close to him, and the wolf — and Remus as well — was getting distracted. Remus' nose was filled with Marlene's strawberry shampoo, he could feel her body pressed against his, her heartbeat drumming against his chest in time with his. Remus had never before been so close to Marlene — or any other girl — and, he decided, he _liked_ it.

Nina walked away, but it still took him and Marlene an additional while to move. Remus didn't want to, for one. He wasn't stupid, or blind, and he was milking this chance for all it was worth. Honest, he could stay here all day, and could anyone blame him? Marlene was _pretty_.

"Is she gone?" Marlene whispered a few minutes later.

"Let's wait a little longer," Remus suggested, a smile plastered all over his face. He was enjoying this entirely too much.

"Should we go to the Aurors?"

"Not just yet," he answered. "But we should definitely keep an eye on her."

"But they said—"

"Nothing that gives us definite proof," he told her, looking down into her eyes. Suddenly he understood the PISS and why it was such a big deal to James. "She could have been talking to her family, nothing more."

"What do we do now?" Marlene asked, shifting nervously. Remus extricated himself from behind the statue, helped Marlene step out into the corridor too. "Who are the Evanses they were talking about? Not Lily's—"

"A lot of people are named Evans," Remus said, trying to remain objective despite his own misgivings on the matter. "Maybe there's another reason why they… they don't want to be recognised."

"But what if they're working for the Dark Side?" Asked Marlene.

"What if they're _not_?"

Remus' question hung in the air between them, heavy and daunting.

"You heard them, it could be they're not even connected to the Death Eaters. A lot of people are in hiding these days," he said fairly. "Maybe her family is too— I _swear_ to you, Marlene, this is the first time she's acted suspiciously in any way. Please, let's not say anything just yet. Not until we're sure."

"Until we have proof, you mean."

"Yeah," Remus conceded

"Okay." Marlene hated it, he could tell. But she also seemed to have made up her mind. "I'll look for evidence in my Common Room," she said bossily. "And you and I, we're watching her _every_ move until we're sure."

"You can count on it," Remus promised at once. He was already worried it was a huge mistake, and should they take these chances at all? On account that Sirius more than liked her? _Really_?

He hoped they weren't condemning the "Evanses", whoever they were, to a fate that was becoming increasingly common of late.

"Let's go then," Marlene decided, taking Remus' hand in hers and leading the way back towards the Grand Staircase.

Neither of them noticed the flutter of movement behind them as they turned a corner; Nina pulled the hood of an invisibility cloak from her face, her expression tight-lipped as she watched them go.

.

* * *

.

Back in Courtroom One, someone else was getting eaten up by conflicting emotions, but James' couldn't have been more different: the only thing he was torn over, was whether to sock Fudge one on the nose or use his words to ruin his career.

It would be a service to the world at this point.

"Mr. Potter, kindly join your parents on the dais," Dumbledore prompted, and James' choice was made. He crammed the rest of the chocolate into his mouth, sent every ounce of its energy to Sirius, then got to his feet and vaulted over the wooden railing that separated them.

The Aurors stepped back, but either he was very lucky or Dumbledore was stopping them from shackling him, because James made his way unhindered all the way to Sirius' side.

He was still out of it, shivering on and off and looking rather blue in the face.

Not that the host of witches and wizards cared; they were talking amongst themselves, shooting the same sort of glances at James and his parents as they had Sirius earlier. Like they were something to be feared.

It was _ridiculous_.

"That's enough," James said clearly, addressing the Wizengamot and the tittering crowd around them.

"What are you doing, Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore asked. It might be a question, but James had spent enough time around the old wizard to know a warning when he heard it. He didn't care right now, though. As he saw it, Crouch and Fudge and their helpers, whoever they were, had let this drag on too long already.

"I'm putting an end to this tripe, sir," James informed the Headmaster shortly, then turned to the rest of the Wizengamot. "So look lively and take notes, because I will now tell you _everything_ you need to know about Sirius Black."

"This isn't how it works, _Potter_ ," Crouch snapped. "You'll get your own trial."

James ignored him.

"Shacklebolt, do I have to do this with Veritaserum?" he asked instead.

"Only if you so wish," the Hit Wizard answered, confused.

"You'll probably be forced to accept my testimony as rock solid if I do, so give it here. Yes, I know it's Veritaserum, you've used it to make him suffer all day with it. No, I haven't taken any before, so just three drops will do."

The spoon was proffered. James stuck it in his mouth. Dizzy as he'd been for hours now, he hardly felt the rush of the potion, but he allowed the Hit Wizard to direct him to a chair.

"State your—"

"Save it, Mr. Shacklebolt," James muttered. "I know how it goes. My name is James Copernillius Potter, and I'm alive right now thanks to him." He pointed a finger at Sirius' unconscious form.

"You might want to nitpick over every last spell he used, what colour his underpants were, whether or not he killed anyone, but I'm here to tell you things as they happened and as they _are_ ," he said next. "I'm no expert on Wizarding Law, but I've done my research, and you've got _nothing_ on him. Self defence or defending others is an exception to the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Wizardry, so he never even broke the law! Everything he did was to escape a bunch of murderers, to protect not just me or my family, but my village too, and then our school. Every bit of magic he did was to help us, to keep us safe. Every bit of magic we… that _I_ did, was to help _him_. We didn't take him in to harbour a _fugitive_ , but to protect someone we — _I_ — know beyond any doubt is incapable of killing anyone, much less like that." He gestured in the air, shook his head.

"Sirius Black _destroyed_ —" Fudge yelled, but James waved him off dismissively.

"So he broke a street, _big deal_! It's not like your department had any trouble fixing everything, including the memories of any eyewitnesses, all that within the hour. Am I _right_ , Mr. Fudge? I _am_ right, aren't I?"

Fudge blanched; the red mottles on his skin suddenly stood out more than before, his eyes flashed furiously. James decided he liked him better that way.

"I… I…"

"Oh, I _know_ I'm right," James interrupted with a shrug. "You _erased_ all the evidence, didn't you? Why _else_ would you accuse him of murder, when there were _surely_ people in Penarth who'd seen it all, who'd seen what, twenty, thirty Death Eaters trying to catch _one_ kid in a deserted street?" He shot at him next. "You're trying to send Sirius to prison when you should be giving him a bloody medal." Around him, people began talking to each other, but it was short-lived. James had them all riveted.

"You want to know _exactly_ what he did?" he asked redundantly. "He jumped out of a fourth-storey window after being tortured for hours, just to warn me that the Lord Thingy would come for me and my parents. He successfully escaped from all the bloody Death Eaters in the country for _days_ , and even when he was dying right in front of me, all he wanted was for me to go home where I'd be safe. Even if it killed him, and it nearly did. I _saw_ it, I was _there_. He took all those curses so I wouldn't have to. And you're treating him like dirt, threatening him with Azkaban and throwing him in a room full of Dementors, publishing slander about him left and right just because his name is Black? You make me _sick,_ the lot of you."

"This court will not be insulted by you, Potter!" Crouch shouted.

"This court is an insult all its own," James shot back. Part of him regretted saying it out loud like that, but the truth potion was coursing through his bloodstream and taking control of his mouth, so he didn't even hesitate to add, "This trial is a bloody joke."

"This court—" Crouch started, but he was overridden at once.

"This _court_ has its own voice," Dumbledore boomed suddenly. "Mr. Potter is under Veritaserum, which as you know, suppresses any inhibitions. He speaks the truth as he sees it, and the Wizengamot wishes to hear _everything_ he has to say. Stand down, Prosecutor. Your work here is done." The Headmaster nodded at James. "Please continue with your testimony, Mr. Potter, and give us all the details as you see fit."

As he saw _fit_.

This was a surprising turn of events. Dumbledore had just given James the freedom he needed to make his case.

"Thank you, sir," he said earnestly. "Well, we decided to keep Sirius at home until he healed, because we couldn't trust the Dark Side not to kill him at St. Mungo's or anywhere else. He wouldn't have survived the trip there, for one. So yeah, we heard he was accused of murder, but I _know_ him. He wouldn't ever do anything like that, he told me and my parents as much, and you've seen already that he _didn't_ kill anyone. He was very bad off," James added, his memory refreshed from the gruelling morning he'd spent with Sirius down memory lane.

"What you saw on him, that's _nothing_ compared to how he was then. Those wounds are from the night the Death Eaters and the Lord Thingy attacked my Dad and him at home. Now, I wasn't in Godric's Hollow that night, but I know for a _fact_ that he faced off all the Death Eaters and the Lord _Thingy_ by himself. I _know_ they nearly killed him, but he managed to trap them all in that big muzzle we saw on the paper. I also know," James went on, "That he did all of that to save my Dad's life, after Voldemort's — oh, _get over it_ , it's just a name — after _Voldemort's_ pet viper bit him."

"Wait, you mean to say he was in Godric's Hollow all that time?"

"Yeah, he wasn't well enough to leave. When the Death Eaters went to our house, he'd barely gotten well enough to get out of bed."

"How did he fight all the Death Eaters then?" Old Tiberius Ogden asked. He looked very curious, his previous animosity forgotten. He wasn't the only one, either.

"It wasn't difficult, he told me he goaded them into forming a killing circle," James answered. "They've been trying to kill him since he escaped them in London, and like he said, he'd pissed them off. There are anti-apparition wards all over our grounds, so he distracted them from realising they couldn't apparate away while he transfigured the back garden into that maw, but… you heard him earlier, he needed them focused on him while his spell took hold."

"So that's when they were…?"

"Yeah, when the Lord _Thingy_ tried to kill him," James replied. "He said it was worth it."

"You don't agree?" Shacklebolt wanted to know.

"I think setting himself up as bait was the stupidest plan in creation," James said without a doubt. "But… but he's right. It _worked_ , even if they did nearly kill him."

"Why do you think he decided on that particular course of action?" Dumbledore wanted to know next. James frowned.

"He told me he was sure he was toast," he answered after a moment. "He just wanted to make it, y'know. Count."

"Did he tell you that?"

"Yeah, but he didn't need to. I _know_ it, because I know _him_." James' impatience flared up again. "I also know, Sirius hasn't recovered from any of that even now. That night, he saved Godric's Hollow, just like Pellinore Owens will tell you again in a bit, I'm sure."

"What happened after that?" Shacklebolt asked keenly.

"He recovered at our beach house," James' Dad said, saving James from spilling much more than a can of beans. "That was _our_ decision, as his adoptive parents and guardians."

"Fair enough," Shacklebolt said, before Fudge could interrupt. Crouch, James noted with satisfaction, had not said a word in a long time. "Didn't your parents take you there to recover as well?" he asked James.

"Yeah, but he was already there when I arrived."

"So he wasn't with the Death Eaters for the twelve murders at the end of January."

"He wasn't even awake then," James pointed out. "He couldn't even see until like, February."

"But he recovered."

"Sort of. He wanted to go straight to Hogwarts the second he could stand."

"Why?"

"To get this whole matter sorted," James felt like he was pointing out the obvious. "'Course, if I'd known you'd treat him like this, I wouldn't have let him come back at all. He wanted to turn himself in since he woke up after New Year's. We had to knock him out to get him to stay."

Shacklebolt chuckled, shook his head. James wondered what was funny, and absently noticed he too, had gone on standby, just waiting for another question to be asked.

"So what happened when he returned to Hogwarts?"

"He was ambushed by the Death Eaters along the way and overheard their plans to take over the school," said James. "And he stopped them all, as we've told you already. He said it was by accident, but I don't think so— he hates the thought of that lot touching our school."

"Why?"

"Because it's _Hogwarts_ ," James retorted, was Shacklebolt stupid? "It's our _home_ , all our home. Honestly, I'd have done the same, and that's what I don't get— you're all trying to make him out to be one of _that lot_ when he's really no different from loads of kids at school. Anyone of us would have protected the castle, if we'd known."

"So you're saying he saw the chance and took it?"

"Yeah. He did what he could— you're all just bothered because he did it better than you."

"He was _seen_ with the Death Eaters—" Fudge erupted again. James rolled his eyes theatrically.

"We _all_ saw him, Fudge. He was _fighting_ the Death Eaters, you'd have to be blind _and_ stupid to think he was helping the Dark Side in any way. He marked the spots with the Bark Mark and everything, and blasted them with that big wave from the Lake. You saw it too, Headmaster."

"I did," Dumbledore confirmed, eliciting a new wave of muttering. "Everything happened exactly as Mr. Potter said."

"Even the Aurors who arrived first saw it. None of them are here, though, except for Moody," James pointed out dryly. "And you _conveniently_ got _him_ kicked out of this trial for insubordination so he can't testify, right?" Some of the plum-robed elders shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Others looked genuinely confused. "But that doesn't mean it didn't happen. Sirius even sent me a message to call the Aurors, did you know that?"

"He did?" Shacklebolt asked.

"Yeah, don't look so surprised, he _wanted_ you guys there. All he was trying to do was to mark the spot so you could find the breach faster!" James answered forcefully, and the red-robed witches and wizards had the grace to look abashed. James took advantage of this opening and plunged on. "But what do you do when you finally _do_ get there and make a gazillion arrests he had trussed up for you? You treat him like the scum he bloody well _isn't_. It's _you_ _all_ who should be shackled to that damned chair, it's _you_ who should answer for your crimes, not him. So if you're going to arrest us all for doing the right thing, tell me now. Otherwise, let him go already so we can go home."

A shocked silence met his words. James crossed his arms mulishly over his chest. Raised an eyebrow.

"Well? What's it going to be?"

.

* * *

.

Peter found that brewing potions calmed him down.

There was no wand movement to do, no incantation to get just right, no real thought behind it. All he had to do was follow instructions, and that was something he excelled at; he wasn't creative like Sirius and James, he lacked their natural talent for all things magical, much less the fast-paced casting they loved so much. Potions ingredients, though… those he understood, and he found the activity calming, focusing.

He needed that now.

Peter was worried, and had been for some time now… but somehow things had just kept escalating until now.

Oh, of course he shared the same nervous energy as most of his friends were all but exuding, but his worry ran deeper than even Remus'. His werewolf friend was incapable of rational thought, fretting over that blasted trial's outcome.

Sure, Peter _was_ worried about what would happen if Sirius was sent to prison, he was more worried about James also getting himself arrested… But he was not like them, so his worries stemmed from his dread of life without his friends, rather than from an understanding of their actions.

He had always been different: self-sacrifice wasn't something he was keen on ever having to do, and part of him understood implicitly that Sirius, and even James, were going down a path he was dreading above all others. This, their temperaments that led them to duels and battles and things, was in _their_ nature.

It wasn't in Peter's.

And frankly, he was more worried Sirius would open his big gob a tad too far and land him in Azkaban too, for being an unregistered Animagus.

 _Damn you, Sirius, damn you if you open your overlarge bloody mouth,_ he thought, bitterly and without a shred of shame, as his hands deftly sliced, diced, chopped and crushed and strained ingredients. _Maybe you should have died when we thought you had._

At least then he wouldn't have to worry himself to pieces about what he could do for himself from now on.

Things would have worked themselves out by now.

When he got the news of Sirius' death, he _had_ mourned him. He'd felt bereft of something that was a part of him for years, and he'd genuinely missed him, even if he could be a right shit sometimes. He'd come to terms with his death, as well. It wasn't as though it wasn't a disaster waiting to happen for years, after all.

Although he'd been sad, Peter had not been surprised.

If you thought about it, and knowing Sirius… it was even expected to some extent.

Then James went and told him and Remus the truth, and it still cut Peter deep. Remus had already forgiven him for lying to them, but Peter was still angry. He still felt betrayed.

All the years he'd spent his time doing whatever they — mostly James — wanted, all the long nights practising to become an Animagus — only to become a bloody _rat_ — or setting up some practical joke or other, playing lookout for them, being the butt of countless jokes… It all felt like a bit of a waste, to be honest.

What purpose was there in having so-called friends, when they could abandon him like that at the drop of a hat? If Sirius hadn't been such a bloody Gryffindor, he'd never even have been on the wrong end of all those curses. If James hadn't spent all that time goading Snape, he wouldn't have gotten himself almost killed, either. They wouldn't have made Peter feel, for the first time in his life, like he was truly alone. Exposed. Vulnerable.

He didn't like this feeling.

When James asked Peter for all those potions during the holidays, Peter had brewed them, day in and out. Mostly because it helped him think, and he'd spent a long time thinking. About what his future could hold without Sirius around to take the brunt of curses meant for him, without James to turn away any bullies and make them run.

Even that one moon he'd spent on his own with Remus had been frightening. He was a _rat_ , not a huge hulking animal. He feared the wolf then, for the first time, and for weeks now, he'd fretted and worried.

He hadn't even found an answer to any of the things that plagued him.

What if Sirius and James _didn't_ come back? Crouch had been nothing if not adamant in his promises of tossing them both in prison and throwing away the key. He wasn't ready to step into their shoes, not even for Remus. He wasn't ready for anything at all.

And even if they did return, they'd not suddenly decide to stop fighting the Dark Side. Peter would never tell them this, but he knew, deep down, they were goners.

And what would he do then?

He paused, a Fire-ant held carefully between forefinger and thumb. He placed the inch-long insect on his board, using the tip of a knife to remove its legs. Like the ant, he'd be torn to bits if — when, rather — James and Sirius, and even Remus were crushed by the Death Eaters. And they'd make him follow them. They always had, and what had once been the best feeling ever had now soured in the face of reality. He was a target by extension, and how could he save himself from their fate?

That he had grown and learnt and become a better person out of knowing James and Sirius, conveniently escaped his mind just now.

"Oh look, if it's not little Pettigrew." Peter froze as the voice reached his ears. Slughorn wasn't here, he was alone in Dungeon 6.

Alone with a very bald, very much dangerous-looking Severus Snape.

 _Shit. Oh, shit_.

"Leave me alone, Snape," he spat, trying for a tone he'd heard often enough from James and Sirius. It sounded weak in his ears, but he didn't dare call him _Snivellus_. Not when all that separated them was his bubbling cauldron, not even if Sirius would probably have said he looked like a deflated volleyball. _Shit_.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Snape drawled, placing his own cauldron one table over and lighting the fire with a flick of his wand. "Not so mouthy now your friends aren't around to hide behind."

"I'm just here to finish my assignment." Five more minutes, and he'd have been done. _Why_ couldn't Snape just have gone on a loo break or something before coming here? "I don't want any trouble."

"When will you ever stand up for yourself? When will you get fed up with playing the sycophant to the likes of Potter and Black?" Snape asked, his crooked yellow teeth bared almost like a beast's as he selected ingredients for his own potion. Whatever it was, it couldn't be in the curriculum: ashwinder venom wasn't used except in poisons. "What will _you_ do when they end up in Azkaban tonight and never come back? Will you hide behind Lupin, perhaps? Maybe someone _else_?"

Did the damn kid also read minds now? Peter had to wonder.

"Shut up Snape, you don't know anything." He picked another Fire-ant from his tray, but his hands were shaking and he squished the bug. Cursing at mid-voice, Peter wiped his hands and selected another. Maybe Snape would take the hint and leave him alone; they often worked alone in the same potions dungeon, after all. They hadn't ever exchanged more than a glance before, never mind words.

 _Don't let him see your fear,_ a little voice in his head suggested, sounding suspiciously like Sirius'. Peter had no idea how to do that. His heart was hammering in his chest, and all he could think was, _Damn you, Sirius. Damn you for causing this_.

"Think about it, _Pathetigrew_. What if you're all _alone_ come dinnertime?" Snape asked, placing jars and herbs and whatnot on his work table, deliberate and slow, and was the poison meant for him?! "It's a fair question, we both know you're useless on your own. Unless you want to practice duelling? I've learnt a few interesting spells I would love to try on you."

"I said, leave me _alone_!" Peter shrieked, Fire-ants and potions forgotten. Something like instinct had flared up, and being a rat… he was already looking for an opening to scurry away, a dark corner to slink into until the danger passed.

There was no way out, though.

Three figures were blocking the doorway, and Peter recognised Rowle, MacNair and Flint, Snape's new best friends. This was getting uglier by the minute.

"Oh, that's quaint," sneered Snape. "I'm shaking in my boots, Pete Pathetic. What are you going to do when Potter and Black don't return? Will you hide behind that half-breed Lupin, eh? He looks like a strong wind can topple him over half the time. I'd actually like to see that," he added as an afterthought. It earned him a few laughs. They sounded ominous to Peter's ears.

Pete gulped in some air. He had gone very pale.

"They will come back," he said nervously. He sounded, to his own ears, like he was trying to convince himself.

"And how long do you think they'll _last_?" Snape asked casually, picking up a knife to chop up some billywigs. Behind him, his ghoulish friends sniggered nastily. "The Dark Lord is taking over, _Pathetigrew_ , and your stupid little friends are going down. It's only a matter of time, can't you see it with those mousy eyes of yours? Black won't make it through this year, nor will Potter. And what will you do then?"

Pete didn't have an answer to that now any more than he had all day.

Snape chopped up his ingredients expertly, making a show of measuring out three quarters of a dram of wormwood. Peter swallowed dryly.

"Think about it, Pettigrew," he drawled. "We could reach an arrangement, you and I… and all of us." He gestured with his knife in the air, and Peter heard the door of the dungeon shut, a locking spell right after.

 _Shit. Oh shit_.

"All I need is for you to give me something in return," said Snape, now chopping up some plant. _Tentacula_ , Peter's mind supplied nonsensically. "Information, for example."

" _No_ ," said Peter, his voice shaking. What he was saying no to, though, was lost on no-one in the room.

"No? Hm. Let me put it this way," Snape said. His tone had turned threatening. "If you're not _with_ us, you're _against_ us. _All of us_." He had come very close to Peter's face all of a sudden. When did that happen? Peter squeaked and backed away, into the damp dungeon wall.

Behind Snape, Rowle, Flint, and MacNair now towered over Peter, their wands drawn. Peter's eyes wandered to his work table, to his own wand, which he'd foolishly set aside. He wouldn't know what to do even if he'd had it, though.

His eyes wandered to the Slytherins. Their grins were almost feral, and Pete could only yelp out in fear as they packed him by the front of his robes and yanked him to the centre of the room. He tried to get away, but four wands were nearly pushed up his nostrils.

The next instant, he was sent flying against the wall. His head smacked stone with a _thunk_ , and his cry was one of sheer terror as he slid down, scrambling into a corner out of instinct.

It had been so long since he had last felt this small, this vulnerable… Years, in fact, since the first train ride to Hogwarts. He realised that this was his answer to the question he'd been asking himself.

Never mind his future, reality had caught up _now_.

 _Damn you, Sirius. Damn you too, James. You should be here, damn you both_. _This is on you._

Peter's cauldron wobbled dangerously on the fire, and a little of his half-finished potion — a Strengthening Solution he'd been making for an extra credit — splashed out and on the floor, burning a hole into the stone with a hiss.

It smelled like burnt plastic.

"Oh, you haven't added the crushed ants' legs yet?" Snape laughed at the terrified Peter, who stared at them with wide eyes, his mouth opened in a silent scream. "Dangerous things, these potions," he added, laughing nastily. "At this stage yours is no better than acid, and it would be _dreadful_ if some accidentally spilled on you, wouldn't it?"

While Peter looked on in horror, he ladled up some of the potion, splashing some on the floor inches away from Peter's foot.

"No! _Don't_!" He squeaked out.

"That's not the word I want to hear from your mouth, Pettigrew. You're either with us, or against us. I'm pretty sure you've seen how your precious Potter and Black ended up for standing up against us. That's only going to get worse and worse, until they…" Snape let some potion dribble onto Peter's foot. Peter tried to pull away, but strong hands were pinning him down as a few drops fell onto his shoe, sizzling holes through leather, skin, bone. "Like _that_. And you _know_ it."

Peter screamed. Tears were falling now, he was babbling, pleading, begging for them to stop. He twisted away from the grip holding him, his hands flying to his foot — and more of the burning, smoking potion splashed on one of his hands.

" _STOP_!" Peter shrieked, reeling with pain and fear. One of his fingers was gone, his hand was a bloody, sizzling mess— _gods, please make it stop, make it stop._

"But I have stopped." Snape gestured for the others to let him go; they did so at once. Peter tried to stand, to get out of there, but the pain was crippling. He moaned and wept, and in his mind he cursed his friends, who should have been here, should have stopped this from happening. Like they always had.

Until now, when everyone was so caught up with Sirius and his stupidity and everything else was shunted to the proverbial back burner… and they forgot all about Peter.

_You should have died. Why didn't you fucking die?_

"That's what Potter and Black will end up as, nothing more than holes in the ground. Do you want to throw your lot in with them? Do you think they can protect you?" No, they _couldn't_. And would they even care? "Look around, Pettigrew. They're nowhere near, and _that's your future_ , and theirs. With us," Snape added, "you wouldn't have to worry about any of _this_." He swirled the ladle around, and Peter cried out in fear again. "Stand against us… and we might just as well upend the entire cauldron now."

" _NO_!" Peter yelped out, his voice cracking in his panic. "I'll… I'll do it. Just please, _please_ stop."

"You heard him, lads. He's one of us now." Snape tossed the ladle back into Peter's cauldron as his goons stepped back.

They laughed, a sound full of derision that rang in Peter's ears long after they were gone. He didn't know it yet, but that sound would never leave him.

"So we're clear. You'll tell us _everything_ as soon as you learn of it. You'll help me with _whatever_ I need. I'll make sure you're left in peace. And I'll also make sure the Dark Lord hears of it, he might even make you a Death Eater." Snape rolled up his left sleeve, showed him the Dark Mark burnt into his forearm. "I know what I'm talking about."

Peter stared at the moving lines on Snape's skinny forearm, his world shattering. Snape was right, and though every fibre of Peter's being strained against it, it was his childhood ending, nothing more. He acknowledged defeat, understood without a shred of doubt, that the side of the Light was fighting a losing battle.

"Yes… yes," Peter sobbed out. His foot felt like it was on fire, his hand felt like it was still being dissolved, and he hated himself for it, but Snape was right: they were too strong, and with James and Sirius gone — for the day, or forever — what _else_ could he do?

"Yes what?" Snape raised his eyebrows inquiringly. Flicked his fingers against Peter's mangled hand.

" _Yes, I'll do it_ ," Peter howled out. "I'll… I'll do whatever— whatever you want. Just _please_ let me go."

Rowle was still laughing as he made his way to the door and opened it.

"Some Gryffindor, you are," Snape grinned at him, his fetid breath all up Peter's nose. It mixed with the acrid smell of his partially dissolved hand and made his stomach threaten to spew his lunch.

"Hey, it's Regulus," said Rowle, like nothing was the matter. "Want me to…?"

"No, I'll talk to him myself." Snape patted Peter's head, gave him another grin, his hooked nose almost touched Peter's cheek. "We're recruiting, you see," he explained. "And my Lord just _wants_ a Black for his collection. And pretty soon, that one will be the only one left. I'll see you around, Pete. You might want to get that looked at, you clumsy clot." He hopped to his feet, "Hey, Regulus! Wait up! There's something I need to talk to you about!"

The next instant he was gone with his goons, leaving Peter sobbing brokenly on the dungeon floor.

.

* * *

.

Potter had single-handedly made the entire trial veer into another direction, and now the Wizengamot were crossing their t's and dotting their i's, corroborating Potter's story with the Veritaserum-induced testimony of the older Potters and a handful of Aurors who were called back from their duties for this purpose.

No, Voldemort wasn't happy with what he was hearing; while he'd known all along the Black brat would be exculpated, he'd been too eager to turn Rasmus' mind around regarding his plan that he'd completely overlooked what, exactly, this roomful of fools would be discussing.

He was still angry at the mockery of his name; the bloody brat just _had_ to announce that terrible nickname to the winds, to sympathisers and foes alike, _gah_.

And now they were discussing worse. So much worse.

His _only_ defeat to date.

The ridicule of all his Death Eaters.

 _To the last detail_.

And to make matters even worse, he rather desperately needed to do a wee.

If Voldemort had mastered the art of the real death glare, Sirius Black would have spontaneously combusted on the spot ages ago.

Especially now they were getting a blow-by-blow of the events that had occurred the one other day he wished to erase from his memory: the failed attack on Godric's Hall. His failure to bring the Wizarding World to its knees through the Hollow Massacre. He'd even picked a name for it and everything.

"I saw it," Pellinore Owens' unnaturally shrill voice jarred his ears. "I was doing my rounds when I came across it. I'm part of the Hollow Watch, you see…"

Voldemort made up his mind. He excused himself from Rasmus as delicately as he could and stalked off to the lavatories a moment later, trying not to wobble too much in this blasted footwear.

He'd heard enough mocking of his Cause, of his Death Eaters, of his very _identity_ , for a lifetime. Black's words were not merely insulting — they were heavily undermining the fear the general public had for him, the image he had forged upon the blood of scores of witches and wizards.

He would have to change that and soon, Voldemort decided, as the lavatories came into view. But first, he had some important business to attend to—

" _Madam_!" a scandalised wizard cried out from the urinals.

Oh.

 _Right_.

A moment later, he had backtracked and was crossing the correct door to the ladies'. He was quite alone in the loo, which was a blessing at this point; he was furious. Had anyone walked in, the unfortunate witch would have been obliterated on the spot.

His unfamiliar reflection in the mirror, however, distracted him quite effectively from his anger. Martha Riordan had been a good pick, he realised; there were so many less comely witches in the world, that he couldn't but appreciate it. He liked the soft, flowing brown locks framing his face, the softness of her gaze.

She was the perfect disguise; beautiful, perfectly positioned to collect inside information from the MLE… She looked good. Inspired trust.

"Why, hello, Minister," he said in the falsetto that came so easily to him. Batted his eyelashes experimentally at the mirror.

"Hello, love," the mirror replied sleepily. Voldemort smiled thinly.

He would use this shape more often, Voldemort decided, while sorting out the ways women did their business. It was not as bad as all that, was it? He would need more strands of hair from this particular witch.

Eh, he'd just take the entire head.

Even the heels he was wearing were strangely comfortable once he managed to keep his balance while walking. He touched up his make-up expertly with a few flicks of his wand, made sure his blouse was arranged properly, that there was not one hair out of place around his lovely bonnet.

Calming down and bracing himself to hear more ridicule heaped on his name took a little additional time.

By the time he had managed somewhat and made his way to the courtroom, Voldemort had to learn another lesson the hard way: apparently witches had to keep part of their focus constantly on their rear — he crossed the entire first corridor eliciting giggles and badly-muffled laughs before another, red-faced and laughing witch told him politely that the hem of his skirt had gotten stuck up his pantyhose… and there was a bit of toilet paper stuck to his shoe.

It did very little to improve his mood, and he reached around to adjust the twisted fabric and clippety-clopped back to the courtroom, just to escape the lookers-on mocking him.

Therefore, it was refreshing to return to his seat and find that Black was having a rather nasty waking of it when he came to again. It gave Voldemort something to focus on that wasn't the position of his bonnet, that wasn't making sure he had managed to get every item of clothing in place, that wasn't his self-righteous anger at that cursed schoolchild.

Being the Dark Lord, he could, of course, sense the Dementors reaching out for Black even now they had been forced into their dungeon. What was most interesting to him, though, was how much those creatures seemed to _like_ the damned brat, how much they seemed to affect him.

Earlier, Black had regaled them with another very satisfying display of genuine distress, once more thanks to the Dementors' excellent work. If anything, the mere fact that there were screams that time, made Voldemort eager to see a repeat presentation. It had been music to his ears.

Yes, it was petty as far as revenge went, but he could see ever so plainly that the Dementors were so much more effective than his Death Eaters at making him suffer that he couldn't get enough.

This weakness, Voldemort was _definitely_ going to exploit.

"Vant chocolate, my loff?" Rasmus offered, looking much more like his composed, unshakable self now the Dementors were well out of sight. He looked happier too, ever since the trial had turned up a more detailed story than Voldemort himself could ever have given him. Instead of looking disinterested as he had before, now he appeared to be besotted with the Black brat. And, Voldemort noted with a grim sort of satisfaction, the Potter brat too.

 _You don't fool me, Thanatovich. I have you right where I want you_.

"No, thank you, darling," Voldemort chirped up with the sweetest smile he could muster. It came out rather feral. "I'm perfectly all right."

"All right," said Rasmus, his eyes fixed on the raised prisoner's chair, where Black was shifting uncomfortably, frowning at the chains as though only just realising he was bound.

 _Good_ , thought Voldemort, _serves him right, the little beast._

"How are you feeling?" Shacklebolt interrupted the older Potter's interrogation to address the brat.

Black just gave him an unfocused look. Frowned a little, as though he had a hard time processing the question.

"Like I'm going to spew all over you any second?" he ventured.

Shacklebolt took a step back, "Take deep breaths, you'll feel less dizzy that way."

"It would be easier if you stopped making the room spin around like that."

But it wasn't the Veritaserum making the room spin, Voldemort was well aware of what was happening. He was also wondering, albeit a tad mischievously, if he could get away with unleashing the Dementors on these unwitting witches and wizards once more. It had been over half an hour since they'd tried to eat Black's face; maybe, given another chance, they'd succeed this time and finally put an end to this farce of a trial.

It would improve his mood, if nothing else.

.

* * *

.

This trial had perhaps, been the most intense Tiberius Shacklebolt had witnessed in his day. It had been full-blown chaos since the young Mr. Black set foot in the Ministry, and amusing as he'd found most of the boys' responses to an otherwise hair-raising ordeal, he couldn't overlook the fact that, for Black at least, this trial had lasted hours longer than he was capable of dealing with.

Tiberius was convinced of the outcome of the trial even before James Potter swayed everyone's opinion, but it wasn't up to him to decide when the interrogations would end. He was instructed to take the depositions of the elder Potters using Veritaserum, then had to help defuse another Dementor attack before it got out of hand — how had they escaped from their dungeon again? — and had listened to Pellinore Owens' grand rendition of his testimony…

And while it was nothing if not clear — even to Barty Crouch, who had already stated the prosecution would pursue the matter no further — that Black was guilty of nothing except trying to come on top out of a most extraordinary situation, Fudge had apparently not yet gotten that memo.

He came out with yet another theory.

Just as the Wizengamot gave him the go-ahead to end the round of testimonials.

"I object!" cried Fudge. "There are still many questions left unanswered — what if he's under the Imperius Curse?"

Tiberius had just been about to free Sirius from the chains, and he whipped around to the much shorter wizard.

"Do you really think he is?" he boomed, making half the courtroom jump.

"He said he can throw it off, and that is supposed to be well-nigh impossible! For all I know, he _could_ be! In that case everything he said would have been a lie."

"How _dare_ you—" James Potter leapt from his own chair, incensed all over. Tiberius raised a hand to stop him from lunging at the fat little man.

"Very well. Let's give that a go," he said. "Sirius."

There was no response. Tiberius snapped his fingers under his nose.

"Oy, Sirius."

Sirius' head went up again. Unfocused eyes wandered around the room, until they finally fixed themselves on Tiberius' own. Each time it came harder, and it was impossible to miss how he was only reluctantly responding to commands because of the insane amounts of Veritaserum in his system.

"Are you currently under the Imperius Curse?"

Sirius swallowed, shook his head, waggling it from side to side. "No."

"Did any of the Imperius Curses you were subjected to remain in place?"

"I _told_ you, that curse doesn't work on me."

"Do you serve Lord Voldemort?"

"Don't say the name anymore, _please_!"

" _Ugh_. No." Sirius might be on the verge of passing out, but he still managed to look utterly put off by the idea.

"Have you helped him or the Dark Side in any way?"

"No. At least, I don't think so. Gods, I hope not… I didn't, did I?"

"No, you didn't," Tiberius reassured him with a smile.

"Yeah, I didn't think so."

"Do you sympathise with the Dark Side's ideas?"

"What, the pureblood supremacy grout? _Hell_ , no. That's just pathetic."

"Did you lead the Death Eaters to James Potter?"

Sirius blinked. Slowly, he shook his head. "No. I got there by accident. I'd never..." He was shivering; so, Tiberius saw, was James. "No."

"Would you help the Dark Side in any way?"

"Gah, how many _times_?" Sirius asked in a long-suffering tone. "I already said I wouldn't, I won't, that's why I'm here at all, aren't I? So let me just spell it out for you, one last time. Maybe then it'll stick. I _didn't_ help them, I won't _ever_ help them, I kicked their arses and they hate me for it. That's the breaks, nothing more, nothing less. Got it?"

"Loud and clear. Is there anything you want to do regarding the Dark Lord? His followers?"

Sirius shrugged one shoulder.

"The Lord _Thingy_? I'd like to give him a taster of his own medicine. The rest of them as well."

"How would you go about that?"

"I don't have to _do_ anything. I just say hi, that's all it takes lately."

"Did you have a hand in the raid on Hogwarts last Monday?"

"'Choo mean?"

"Did you help the Dark Side attack Hogwarts?"

"No, I already told you," Sirius rapped his fingers impatiently on he armrest of his chair. "I overheard them calling in reinforcements from Hogwarts, that was just by accident— So I went to see what hey were doing."

"And you helped them break the wards in the school!"

"No, I was trying to find where they were breaking the wards to tell the Aurors."

"Oh yeah? Then why didn't you?" Fudge yelled.

"I told James," Sirius answered with a shrug, "he told Dumbledore. That's as good as, right?"

"Why didn't you do it yourself, then?"

Sirius shrugged, snorted.

"They spotted me before I could, so then I had to kick their arses. But one got away to warn the rest, so I had to kick their arses too."

"Bullshit!"

"The only shit here is what's leaving your mouth."

"You want me to believe you just fought off all those Death Eaters on your own?"

"I don't give a fig what you believe." Sirius still hadn't managed to make eye contact with Fudge, so he directed his glare somewhere in his general range.

"How did you manage?" Shacklebolt asked curiously.

"I pissed them off," was the answer. "They have terrible aim when they're angry."

"Come on, Tiberius! You're not telling me you believe the tosh he's feeding you! Nobody can just fight all those Death Eaters he listed!"

"You reckon?" Sirius asked innocently.

"I _know_ it, you little punk!"

"It's a fair question, Sirius. How did you do it?"

"I was told to play to my strengths. I've yet to meet anyone who can piss them off just by saying hi."

"I don't know how you're doing it, boy! But mark my words, I'll figure out how you're managing to lie through the potion!"

"I'm really not."

Tiberius looked up at the Wizengamot, raised his eyebrows inquiringly. He got fifty-two nods in return.

"Thank you, Sirius, you've done an excellent job. That will be all." Tiberius turned to look at the fuming prosecutor's aide. "There you have it, Cornelius. He's under Veritaserum. He can't lie. And I, Tiberius Shacklebolt, Head of the Hit Wizard Division of the Ministry Special Forces, declare this interrogation ended and defer to the Wizengamot to emit its ruling."

The Wizengamot cleared the room to go and decide on the outcome of the trial, not before instructing Tiberius to call in Medi-Wizards to treat Black and the Potters, who had all ended up taking the potion.

Tiberius undid the chains holding the boy in place, while a suddenly very happy James Potter suggested to make a plush settee appear in the middle of the room.

"What? Is being comfortable a crime now?" he asked when he caught Tiberius' raised eyebrow. Tiberius decided it wasn't and helped transfer Black to his new seat. Too bad he couldn't undo the shackles around his hands and feet until the Wizengamot gave him the all-clear.

When the Wizengamot returned five minutes later, the Medi-Wizards had given Black as much Veritaserum antidote as they could, and a well-placed reviving spell later, Sirius was awake enough to hear the verdict.

"The Wizengamot has conferred on the matter," Dumbledore declared from his high seat.

"Oh, good," Sirius muttered.

"…And we have found all allegations against Sirius Orion Soren Pendragon Black the Second, unfounded and without grounds. He is hereby exculpated from all accusations, and no appeal to this verdict shall be granted."

Cheers filled the room, but Black just gave a small start at the explosion of sound.

"What's wrong with this lot now?" He asked nobody in particular.

"It's over, Sirius," James informed, grinning widely.

"Over? _Over_ , over? You sure?"

"Yeah, we can go home now."

"Oh, good. I was starting to think we'd stay here for ages and ages."

"And I," said Tiberius, "reckon you don't need these." The shackles fell off, and Sirius immediately made to stand. He keeled over the next minute, but Tiberius caught him and delivered him to the Potters, who had clustered around him.

"Further," Dumbledore made them look up at him once more. "The Wizengamot has ruled all accusations against Fleamont Copernillius Potter, Euphemia Beatrice Potter, and James Copernillius Potter as unfounded and unenforceable. You are all free to go, with the Wizengamot's recommendation to stop by St. Mungo's first, and Mr. Black?"

Sirius looked up at the Hogwarts Head.

"I hope to see you back at school to resume your studies. I hear there is an important match looming, and your team is in dire need of a Beater."

"What's he on about?" Sirius asked in confusion. "I thought it was Friday."

"It still is." James informed happily.

"But we don't have Quidditch practice until Monday. Did you change the schedule and forgot to tell me?"

James shook his head, chuckling.

"Honey, it's over," Betty told Sirius through tears of relief. She pulled him into a tight hug.

"Did it go alright?" Sirius asked. He still spoke in the Veritaserum-induced monotone, and looked like he could barely stand.

"You did great," said James, as he, too, helped support his friend. His smile had become rather forced.

"Why do I have the distinct feeling that's a lie?" Sirius asked.

"Well, you _did_ make a bit of a fool of yourself, as usual, but Mum got there before you could do a complete strip dance."

Sirius looked horrified. James laughed and clapped him on the back, making him totter forward.

"Yep. You were right lucky she's so quick, otherwise everyone would have seen you completely starkers. Let's get something to eat, shall we?"

" _Starkers_?" Sirius echoed, and now Tiberius could see his expression change a little. He looked rather scandalised.

"Not so fast," Tiberius called after the little group, who were about to get mobbed by press and admirers alike.

Sirius froze under James' grip. He straightened up, turned around to face Tiberius once more. Dread was written all over his face.

"Yes, sir?"

Tiberius handed everyone their wands. "You'll need this back," he said, then added, "You're a very brave lad."

"I don't really feel the part, sir."

"That's part of what makes it so. You would make a great Auror someday, but something tells me the Hit Wizard squadron would be lucky to have you. Come and find me when you leave school if you're still wanting to fight the Dark Side, will you? We're always looking for top duellists. Something tells me you'd fit right in with us."

Sirius stared. Then blinked, then nodded.

"I'll... do that, sir."

As he walked out of the courtroom with James, Tiberius heard him ask, "How'd he know?"

James snorted.

"Mate, he even knows what your lucky _knickers_ look like. But I'm hurt, I thought we were going into professional Quidditch together."

"So did I..." Sirius frowned. "But I reckon there won't be any Quidditch if the war goes on, so we'd have to end that first, wouldn't we."

"Sirius?"

"Yes?"

"Stop thinking. You're giving me a headache."

"Don't pick on him, James," Betty admonished. "Can you walk all right, Pumpkin?"

"I don't think so, Mrs. P."

"We still have to sign our depositions," Coop Potter informed them as he joined them, Sirius' exoneration scroll in his hand. "And the Wizengamot ordered Sirius to be checked over at St. Mungo's before we do anything else."

Tiberius took the chance to approach them.

"I'd be glad to offer an escort of Hit Wizards to accompany you wherever you need to go," he told them.

Sirius groaned out loud.

" _Hit Wizards_ , now?" he sounded frustrated. "Will they clap me in irons again too?"

"I promise you they won't," Tiberius assured him with a smile. Sirius stared up at him, trying, and failing, to focus.

"Your teeth are really white," he said in a daze, then shook his head to clear it. "Not sure where that came from. Never mind me." Tiberius frowned.

"I believe it would be best if we went to St. Mungo's sooner rather than later. The antidote might not have been sufficient," he told Betty and Coop. "Come along, you can finish all the formalities at the hospital. A squad will be ready in a moment, and I shall accompany you to take your official statements."

Tiberius made short work of organising his team. One squad went ahead to secure the hospital and alert the Healers, another assembled at the doors, ready to take the Potters to an express Floo point.

The Potters nodded at him, and ushered their boys towards the exit, where the press was already jostling to get a picture, a statement. Tiberius directed the Aurors to open a path for them.

"What do you think, Tiberius?"

"Oh, I think he won't go for professional Quidditch," said Shacklebolt.

"You know what I mean."

"There's not a drop of darkness in that one. Or the Potter kid. You should consider them for the Order."

"Like you're considering them for the Hit Wizards?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled like beacons. "I overheard your little propagandist speech."

Tiberius shrugged and smiled.

"Can't fault a bloke for trying. Alastor gets all the attention lately. And the trainees."

"They're too young, Tiberius." And yet Dumbledore was earnestly considering inducting them into his Order as well.

"Maybe, but they're already fighting the war, and you heard the Black kid. The Potters are already being actively targeted. Might as well nudge those two in the right direction."

"When they leave school."

"If they survive that long."

"Not before then. They're still children."

"Hardly. Well, the Potter boy is, but Black? That ship's sailed."

"They're _underage_ , Tiberius."

"Look after them, my friend. Those two are a force to be reckoned with. Few would have gone through what that kid did, fewer still would have risked life and limb to help, like the Potters did... I don't know, but I'd say they have a pretty good idea of what they're already facing, children or no."

"They haven't even taken their OWLs yet."

"And yet, they have more field experience than most of the Aurors in the Ministry. Don't leave them out of your sight, 's all I'm saying."

"I do not intend to. Watch over them, my friend, James is right to doubt the safety of St. Mungo's."

.

* * *

.

Getting to leave the courtroom was harder than he'd thought. Not that Sirius was doing much thinking just now; he was incredibly dizzy and staggered forward more than he walked, the incessant squeak of his leg brace made his head pound something wonderful, never mind the babble of voices all around him.

"A word, Mr. Black—"

"Sirius! Please, a statement for Witch Weekly!" Rita Skeeter was suddenly in front of them, and Sirius could feel the loathing James felt for her. She'd been a rock in his shoe for ages, and now she'd left Hogwarts last year, well. She hadn't improved. "What is your perfect Sunday?"

"My perfect Sunday is…" Sirius' mouth still had a life of his own. James' Dad stepped in front of them, and swept them towards the doors.

"You don't have to answer that," Mr. P. said, smiling. "Come, boys, we'll stop by the hospital, then we can get something to eat."

Sirius tottered forward. "I hate crowds," he muttered.

"I hear you, Pads. We're nearly there."

He couldn't see very well, either, as though the entire world had gone fuzzy and nobody seemed to mind. Not to mention, every few paces he had to check that the Potters were still there at all. It was as though whenever he lost eye contact, he lost his hold on reality itself. It wasn't a fun feeling.

"Boys! Look at the camera!" A flash blinded him when he turned. James tugged for him to follow.

"Sirius! What is in store for you now you are free?"

"Er…"

"Don't answer that," James advised him. Sirius' mouth snapped shut.

"James, a word for the Prophet!"

"I'll give you two," said James brightly. "Shove over."

"Sirius Black, the Wizarding World needs to know. Will you continue fighting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" Sirius thought he could vaguely recall the reporter blocking their way; he'd been in Sixth or Seventh Year when he first got to Hogwarts. He couldn't remember the name, though.

"I suppose. Will _you_?" asked Sirius, but he didn't get an answer. James pushed the reporter aside and pulled him out of the courtroom…

Where not one, but ten Hit Wizards were waiting.

Sirius back-pedalled, or tried to. It was actually more of a backwards stumble, really, but James held him fast.

 _Easy, Pads,_ said James' voice in his mind. It had been a constant since he'd been bound to that chair, and was quickly becoming his only anchor in the sea of his increasingly blurry, dazed perception of the world.

_They're—_

Not _going to take you to Azkaban, okay?_

_They are!_

_No, they're not._

_Look at them, James. They're bloody Hagrid-sized._

_Yeah, but they're here to protect you. All of us._

_That's what Dumbledore said about the Aurors at school._

_Yeah, but these are friends._

_Good_. Then, a moment later, _James_ , _I feel cold. It's not_ _ **them**_ _, is it?_

 _Gods, I hope not. Lean on me a bit more, there's a good man._ Sirius did, but his mind was on to something else. Something he usually avoided thinking about like the plague; while most of his worse memories filled him with a terrible sort of shame, this one made him feel every bit as worthless as his parents claimed he was.

"James?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you see what those _things_ …"

"Nope," James said flippantly. Sirius couldn't tell if he was lying or not. He hoped he wasn't, even though deep down, he knew better.

"What _did_ you see?"

"Pimply Patsy," James replied at once, grinning widely. "That night we were celebrating the Quidditch Cup in Third Year."

Sirius stared at James, let out a startled laugh.

"Come off it? _That's_ your worst memory?" he asked, even as a weight fell off his shoulders.

It was a lie, he could see it despite the fog addling his perception.

But it was a good one.

James shrugged, as the Hit Wizards now opened a path for them to walk out. He didn't look the least bit embarrassed.

"It's the stuff of nightmares, I'll have you know. Remember how we—"

"Snogged each other's faces off and then you went kissing each of her zit—"

"Shut up, Black, it was traumatic enough when it happened. Just... forget I said that."

Sirius let out a chuckle, gave James a lopsided smirk.

"You know me, Potter. I don't forget _anything_."

.

* * *

.

"Come, my loff," Rasmus prompted, taking a sip of his Polyjuice. "We haff to go for to shake hands."

 _What_?

Rasmus was already gone, and the next instant he was also standing in Sirius' way.

"I just wanted to congratulate you on the outcome of this terrible misunderstanding."

"Who are you?" asked Sirius.

"Oh, apologies. Derek Riordan, I work for the DMLE."

"He saved your behind from the Dementors," James prompted. Gave Rasmus a grateful smile. Sirius hesitated. Took a tentative step back. "Go on, don't be rude and say hi."

"Thanks, I guess," Sirius mumbled, but he was an open book. He clearly didn't trust Rasmus, but in the end he did shake his hand.

It felt cold.

"I hope you make a full recovery," Rasmus said. Next to him, Voldemort sniffled impatiently. "Oh, forgive me, darling. This is my wife, Amy."

"Martha," Voldemort corrected under his — her — breath.

"Amy Martha!" Rasmus amended brightly, with a wide smile. "She also works for the DMLE."

"Pleasure." Sirius didn't move to shake her hand, eyes narrowing. "I'm sure I've seen you before," he said.

"Nonsense," Voldemort snapped. "Maybe on the stands, earlier. I watched the entire trial. It was lovel— terribly entertaining. Come, love, we don't want to be late for our next engagement. Cheerio."

As Voldemort stalked away, Rasmus could distinctly hear Sirius tell James, "That witch gives me the creeps."

"Her? Come off it. Look at her, she's _fit_!"

"She's way too old."

"So? She's got such well-formed, vast… tracks of land—"

"I don't think she's a witch at all."

"Sirius, my dear new brother… That's the Veritaserum talking."

"No, it's not," Rasmus said under his breath. He gave Sirius Black a few perception points, as he caught up with the Dark Lord and offered him his arm.

"I feel for you and your addled perception. That witch is _fit_ , take my word for it. Maybe you need some Potter-quality specs at last," James was saying, completely oblivious as he steered Sirius away in the opposite direction. "I hope they don't keep you in St. Mungo's over this."

"Have you seen anything you like, dear?" Voldemort asked, batting his long lashes at him. Rasmus smiled all the wider.

"I haff. Ve, must talk. Nao."

Voldemort's own smile was genuine as they strolled out of the Ministry, arm in arm.

.

* * *

.

"James!" Remus was a bundle of nerves, so maybe that was the reason for his rather higher-pitched voice than usual.

On the Two-Way Mirror, James' face looked back at him. Remus couldn't tell where he was, all he could see was a blindingly white wall.

"Sorry I didn't call sooner," he said. "It's been—"

"Did they—"

"No, Remus, but it was a close call." James ran a shaking hand over his untamed hair, and only then did Remus notice he looked very much exhausted. Then he grinned, a lopsided affair reminiscent of the ones Sirius used to give them when he had to report he'd lost points again or gotten a detention.

_Oh gods, they haven't been family for two months and they're already fusing into one another._

"You were right, Loopy Loo. They nearly packed us all off to Azkaban."

"What do you mean, _all_?" Remus felt the blood drain from his face. "Why?"

"Sirius, for being a Black, my parents, for taking him in, and me, for underage magic and us as a family, for hiding him and lying to the MLE."

"Shite."

"Oh, aye," said James. His tone was light, but his eyes were shadowed as he focused on something beyond the rim of the mirror, then turned back to Remus. "But we shouted the house down, so they let us go with an official apology for wasting our collective time."

"When will—"

"I don't know, Rem. I don't even know if we're leaving St. Mungo's tonight."

"St. Mungo's?" Remus echoed, instantly worried. "Whatever are you there for?"

"Crouch overdosed Sirius on Veritaserum. Well, we're all a bit loopy right now, to be honest. We all took that stuff."

" _What_?!"

"And those Dementors, man. They did a number on him. He's getting checked over for permanent damage, and… well the Ministry thinks he hasn't gotten to see a Healer since the Yule, so they're doing a full physical."

"Is he?" Remus asked. "Permanently damaged?"

"Yeah," said James without hesitation. Remus felt his stomach clench most unpleasantly. "But I believe it comes from when he was dropped on his head as a child and not this."

Remus closed his eyes a moment, taking the news in.

"He'll be fine, though," James assured him, in a gentler tone. "We won't let him be anything else."

"No, we won't," Remus agreed. "What _do_ we do, James?"

"I'll let you know as soon as they let me see what's happening. I've been waiting for the Healers to come out of his cubicle for bloody _hours_ ," said James. "And we had to do a deposition and statements and things all that time too. I swear, it's worse than detention."

"Well, it _is_ the Ministry you pissed off, not Googles."

"I'm thinking it's time to bust out the fireworks, Moony," said James abruptly.

"Wha…?"

"We need to distract him somehow— Oh, there's the Healers! Hold on."

Remus was treated to a very jolty image of what he now recognised as hospital corridors, and his ears registered the sound of voices.

"What's going on?" James was asking, and Remus could tell by his tone that he wouldn't be getting fireworks ready so soon.

"They want to keep him overnight, honey," a female Remus recognised as James' Mum said.

"Why? What's wrong now?" James asked the question burning in Remus' mind.

"They need to see if he'll react to the antidote, and… well, the rest."

"May I go see him?" It was amazing, really, how James used proper English everywhere except at school.

"Go right ahead," another female replied, and Remus had a brief glimpse of a blonde witch in sea-green robes talking to James' parents. They looked ashen-faced, and Remus' worry spiked.

Not that he got to dwell on it, the Mirror was moving again, past a crowd of the now familiar Aurors in red, a couple of Ministry officials in black, a bunch of people in blue Hit Wizard uniforms, through a door…

Where James stopped short.

"I'll call you back, Moony."

And suddenly there was fog.

Remus lowered the mirror, all the blood draining from his face. James had sounded frightened.

.

* * *

.

Little Hangleton was shrouded in silvery fog. The village had disappeared under the milky-white substance, and Manor Hill looked like an island in a roiling white sea. The lights issuing from the enormous house pierced the night invitingly, warm and welcoming, but the villagers knew better. What to a tourist might have seemed a beacon of hospitality was in reality a crouching beast, ready to pounce on you when you least expected it.

Not that the house's inhabitants cared a whit for such stories. If anything, they would have felt delighted if they knew how vast the fear they spread was, how tight their grip on every living soul for miles around.

Especially when the house's lights were on, flickering like fire and radiating that fake warmth; it meant the lord of the manor was in. It meant disappearances from the streets at night, and sometimes, it meant the faint echoes of screams that carried to the cluster of houses below.

Tonight, however, the old Riddle Manor was unusually quiet, less like a beast about to pounce and more like a large feline purring after an excellent meal. As it radiated fear, so too could it radiate this sensation of sleepy contentment. And the reason for this was in one of the upstairs parlours, at a table by a roaring fire.

"Knigget to F4," Rasmus purred in his heavy Russian accent. The Polyjuice potion was only just beginning to fade, Derek Riordan's brown mop gradually replaced by Rasmus' silver blond, his eyes fading in the face of piercing blue. Across the table, Martha Riordan was analysing the chessboard. Her features were as prim as ever, except for the faint trace of stubble that was beginning to appear on her chin.

They watched as the knight took one of Voldemort's bishops. Riordan smirked in a way that was reminiscent of the Russian duellist.

"Flea-mont Potter forst," he said placidly.

" _Black_ first," countered Martha Riordan, her eyes glinting in annoyance. "Queen to E7. Check."

"Black must for to heal forst," the Russian shook his head with a frown, and the last of Riordan dissolved into nothing. "He not can duel a fly now," he added dismissively. "I vant boy for to heal. I vant for to put eyes on boy more. On Potter boy too. But forst, Flea-mont Potter. Ruck to E8. Check."

Martha's delicate features were not made for scowling, but since Voldemort was wearing her, she did anyway.

"If you fail," she threatened, eyes flashing momentarily red.

Rasmus laughed, amused.

"I haff never failt. I vill not be starting now. I vant fun to haff."

"King to F3. _If_ you fail, what's in it for me? _Black_ first."

"Check mate," Rasmus countered placidly. Martha Riordan cursed. "I vin."

"Fine," she muttered in a voice that was half Voldemort's pleasant baritone, half a woman's. "You've won this round, so I'm guessing you want…?"

"Flea-mont Potter," said Rasmus with satisfaction. "And no attack on Black boy until heals."

"To get _that_ , you'll have to beat me again."

"Chess pieces, moof back to start position."

.

* * *

.

Hours later, Remus was yanked from his doze by the very voice he'd been waiting for all night.

"Psst. _Moony_!"

He jolted awake, fumbling to raise the mirror and squinting blearily at it.

"What the hell, James? Do you know how _worried_ —"

"I also know how much like your mum you sound right now."

"Ha ha bloody ha," muttered Remus. He scrubbed his face to wake up a bit more. "What happened?"

"A bit of a crisis, it's under control now."

"Wha—"

"Apparently there is such a thing as too much chocolate."

"Stop taking the piss," Remus muttered tiredly.

"I'm not, honest. The antidote to the Veritaserum doesn't play well with the antidote to Dementors."

Remus needed a moment to process that last.

"Yeah, not pretty. Anyway," James resumed. "Don't break out the fireworks yet. We won't come back until Sunday evening."

"They're keeping him that long?"

"They'd love to, I bet. But he doesn't want to stay — he says the Healers here are worse than butchers — and we all need a break from all of this. So, we are taking our first holiday as a family."

"That means he's okay, then?"

"He will be. He's still as loopy as you after your monthly troubles, but other than his gammy leg, he'll be right as rain soon."

"What's wrong with his leg? He didn't break it again?"

"No, but apparently he broke it one time too many even before he walked all the way from London to bloody _Wales_ on it."

"What do you mean?"

"The Healers don't think he'll walk again, not without that god-awful brace thing, certainly not without that bloody limp."

"Oh, shite."

"Yeah, he didn't take it with his customary grace."

"They _told_ him?" Remus groaned out loud. His own experiences at the wizarding hospital made that a very distinct possibility.

" _Mr. and Mrs. Lupin? It was a werewolf bite. Our condolences. Here's some pamphlets, and this is the Floo terminal for the Department of Disposal of Magical Creatures…"_

Yep. Tact was not something the St. Mungo's bunch had ever had.

"They didn't tell him, but he was awake and heard it anyway when they told my parents."

"But… he breaks bones all the time," Remus countered, confused.

"Yeah, playing _Quidditch_ ," said James, shifting in his chair. Remus caught a glimpse of Sirius asleep on a bed right next to him. "This is a bit different. But we'll figure something out. He doesn't believe we can, those Healers were pretty bloody convincing— but we will. There's no way he's going full cripple on us."

Remus wasn't sure what to say to that. In his experience, bones could be mended with spells, ointments, SkeleFix, Skele-Gro in the worst cases… he'd never heard of something like a leg not being, well, fixable. If that were the case, he'd be in a wheelchair by now.

"Right, so it's a bad fracture. But _how_ is that enough to be permanent?" He asked at length.

"They said his leg was magically broken. Apparently, some curses are not so easily reversed," James explained darkly. "It got hit with bone-breakers, shattering curses, that ugly one that pulls the bones out of your skin… and apparently it happened a bunch of times… even before he ran."

"What." Remus blinked, sat up in his bed. "How…how many…?"

"At least twelve times, they reckon."

" _Twelve_ …?" Remus could only stare. James nodded, his expression one of deep loathing. "When did he get the time to break his leg a _dozen_ times, James?"

"Before he ran, _when_ he ran, in Penarth, when they nearly killed him the other night, and last week."

" _Before_ he ran?" Remus blanched.

"For years."

"Years?" Remus was aghast. "You're not saying— his _parents_?"

"Remember what happened during Easter in Third Year?"

"Yeah, his father had just died, right?"

"Remember how he came back?"

"Like he always did. James, you're not saying—"

"He made up all those excuses not to play Quidditch for ever, too. Kept going to see Pomfrey for a phony headache."

" _Twelve_ times?"

"His hag of a mother. She had to keep him in the house somehow, didn't she? Sirius told me earlier. She'd break his leg, then fix it in time for those parties she forced him to attend."

"He told you that?" Just like Remus didn't talk about his worse moons, Sirius never discussed his home life. Much less the stuff that happened to him when he was required at his mother's.

Over the years, Remus had learnt to accept Sirius as he was, from the mood swings and brooding after any length of time spent at home, to that annoying hyperactive streak that only grew the closer the end of the year loomed. For someone who tried to get out of doing schoolwork whenever he could, Sirius had always hated when school was out for Summer.

Then again, Remus had never met anyone who enjoyed school as much as he did, either. He even _liked_ getting detentions. Called them his service to the school or something.

"And then that night he ran, they did it all over. And he went and walked on it, splinched it, got it broken again…" James trailed off bitterly. Remus was at a loss for words.

"Oh, _Merlin_." He whispered, aghast. Then, "But didn't Pomfrey—"

"She mended most of everything else, but." James shook his head. "Apparently it was one time too many. She put the brace on, but she neglected to tell us she didn't mean to take it off again."

"What about regrowing it?"

"Apparently some dark curses are permanent. It would just grow back the same." James shook his head, scrubbed one hand down his face. "They said he's close to a growth spurt, he's got a month, tops. Then he's fucked."

"What do we do?"

"Hit the books. Find potions, spells, whatever you can. I don't know, Remus. Whatever helps."

Remus nodded, feeling sick to his stomach.

"Padfoot?" He asked tentatively.

"Pads is as bad off."

Somehow it made everything worse still.

"The party will have to wait, then," Remus said, trying to stay on point.

"Nonsense," James shot back. "We're having it regardless. We're coming back on Sunday."

"But—" Remus bit his lip. He understood the party was important for James, for Sirius maybe too… but he dreaded spending a moon alone. He hadn't since Sirius had become a massive dog late in Third Year. Not once.

"We'll be back before moonrise, don't be daft. He wants to be _there_ ," James told him, rightly reading his expression. "Says he misses kicking your arse over the sheep plushie."

Remus snorted, touched… and slightly ashamed.

"Do you think he'll be well enough to?" he asked, his priorities reshuffled in an instant.

"I don't even know if he can transform, but he says he'll at least try. We might just have to stay in the Shack, though."

"Yeah, no problem. The party?"

"Monday after class. Make sure everything's ready then. We can have it somewhere other people can come too. He _needs_ this. He says he doesn't, but—"

"You _told_ him? Wasn't it supposed to be a surprise?"

"Of _course_ I haven't told him. He's oblivious. Not that it's exactly hard to slip anything past him right now, he was so upset earlier they filled him to the brim with a cocktail that looked a bit like the ones you get."

"Then how do you know?"

"He's _baked_ ," said James, without the slightest hint of a smile. "And still blurting out truths left, right, and centre. It's like his mouth has a life of its own."

"Oh."

"Yeah, now's the time to ask Sirius Black about where he hid your stash of chocolates in Fourth Year."

"I already know he hid them in his greedy stomach."

There was a silence, but James had never been able to endure such a thing for long.

"So," he said a moment later. "Where's Peter?"

"He's in the Hospital Wing," Remus informed.

"What? What happened?"

"Potions accident, he spent the evening in the dungeons. Working on a Potions assignment or something, I forgot to ask. Pomfrey said he'd be all right tomorrow, something about a nasty burn."

"Ugh. How he can have the brains for that sort of thing eludes me."

"Be glad we've got someone to help us keep our noses out of the water in that subject."

"Your nose, you mean. We melt our cauldrons for the sheer fun of it."

"Yeah, somehow I don't think that qualifies as being good at Potions."

"Hey, my Dad used the same method to make his fortune."

Remus didn't take the bait; he wasn't in the mood for banter. Instead, he shrugged, and James' face rearranged itself into the same worried, tired expression he'd been wearing for days.

"You'll tell Pete what we talked about?"

"Sure thing. And I'll get him to help me with the party. He's been spending so much time in the Dungeons he's starting to smell like Snivellus."

"That's just disgusting."

"Yeah, I tried to tell him but you know how he hides behind a cauldron whenever he's upset."

"Yeah, or in the Kitchens," James chuckled. "I'll bring him some French cheese, he loves that stuff. Might cheer him up."

"Smells better, too."

They both laughed, but it was quiet and short-lived and quite unlike the way it should be. So much was, lately.

"Find some place we won't be overheard by Filch," James suggested with a hearty yawn. "Maybe a tower so we can launch the fireworks together. You know how he likes blowing stuff up."

"Don't worry," Remus replied. "I know just the spot." The connection ended a moment later, leaving Remus to stare at the now familiar swirling fog.

Why he hadn't told James about Nina, he had no clue. Maybe it was because James so clearly had too much on his plate, maybe it was because Remus himself didn't know how to even breach the subject.

But maybe, he could tell him when he returned.

.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC.
> 
> A/N: The trial is finally overrrrrr. Gods, if it had dragged on one more chapter…
> 
> Next Up: A plan is made, on several sides. Sirius grapples with his cracked mind, but he's at the beach so at least the view is pretty. James grapples with Sirius' gammy leg, organises a party without even being there, and shops for cheese, Voldemort gets what he wants — no, not that, you pervs, the other thing — and Rasmus goes undercover. Oh and, McGonagall has no choice but to sit her favourite students down and tell them what's what in no uncertain terms, so she takes action, and! Sends them an invite for a very graphic, very hands-on lesson.


	26. Angstermission (Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **In this chapter:** Sirius has quite the collection of ill-fated turns, and they add up faster than anticipated. Luckily, they’re in the French Riviera, so the view helps, and he’s got Coop and Betty. And one James Potter, who is in full FixIt!mode, but whose attempts at fixing it are a bit off-target. Also, Valentine’s Day, so this chapter is full of lovey-dovey stuff.  
>  *snort*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-chapter notes: This wasn’t quite what I had in mind, mostly because the major meltdown wasn’t even supposed to happen yet, but it got away from me so bad, that one scene turned into two chapters and change. So, this is the first, rather ugly part of it.  
>  **Warnings:** I do feel I need to add some warnings, especially TW because, references to child abuse, even if it’s not quite as graphic as in other chapters, but it’s overall a meltdown in slow motion that accelerates and explores what happens when there’s zero coping strategies in place. And then the British stiff upper lip thing backfires, with some help of a couple of elephants and nasty inner workings. Also because overall, the whole thing left me with a rather unsavoury aftertaste, and I *know* where this is going. Or should.
> 
> Sort of. This chapter, I had *not* anticipated.
> 
> Consider yourself warned, and all of you suckers for character suffering, I hope your standards are met by this one. Do enjoy, and as always, I’d appreciate to hear from you at the end there.  
> Thanks to TheDivineComedian and Shayde123 for your considerable help. My ducks wouldn't be in a row... squiggly line. Thing.

**Disclaimer:** This disclaimer has stolen the Potters' Invisibility Cloak. It's a seriously wonderful disclaimer, enjoy.

...

...

Was it _good_ or what?

 

* * *

**Part Twenty-Six: Angstermission Part I**

* * *

.

James couldn't believe the turn of events since they left St. Mungo's. He had honestly thought his parents would take him and Sirius to school right away. Now, as the warm waves lapped at his feet in bloomin' _France_ , he appreciated them all the more. He hadn't known how much he'd needed _this_ , this break from everything, even if it was only for the weekend.

It was _perfect_ , as though the Gods of Quidditch had finally taken pity on them all and provided the exact amount of sunshine, the softest, warmest of breezes, hell, they'd even heated up the water in the Mediterranean exactly right.

He looked up, eyes squinting a little in the bright sunlight, and set them on the one person he knew, without a doubt, needed this break rather more.

And he knew, as another absolute certainty, this weekend, amazing as it was, would not suffice.

Sirius was a little ways away, despondently poking holes in the sand with his wand. Like James, he was wearing a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows — their Mum had suggested they shouldn't take them off, because the sun would do their scarred bodies very little good — but unlike James, Sirius was dry, the shorts their mother had stuck him in letting James see the now infamous leg brace glistening in the sun.

His focus zeroed in on Sirius' haggard face, the sombre expression he wore that was so out of place here in this little paradise, one of the few Wizarding resorts in the world that had not folded up and gone under when the War broke out. As such, and it being Valentine's Day, there was no shortage of company out here; and was it him or were the French witches generally better endowed — and skimpier-clad — than British ones? The entire place radiated a strange, heady sort of vibe, that peculiar sensation of happiness some tourist spots seem to contain in themselves.

Sirius was, predictably, completely oblivious to the witches, the seagulls and happy noises of the other people enjoying their Saturday at the beach, the sun shining warmly on his back, the tangy, exciting smell in the salty air.

 _Something_ had happened yesterday, and James was beyond worried. There wasn't even a word that qualified for how worried he was, because, although for months he'd been jolted and shocked and frightened and _worried_ in ways he couldn't describe even now, _this_ was infinitely worse.

He'd hoped, of course.

Last night at the hospital, he'd even laughed about it, mistaking Sirius' potion-induced remarks to his attempts at cheering him up for something else; but, as he saw just this morning, how could he even _entertain_ the thought that Sirius would bounce back from _this_ so easily?

It wouldn't happen overnight. At one point, James' mind had done a 180 and now he feared it wouldn't happen, period.

So, he turned his back on the azure sea, traded the warm waves for sand, and walked back the twenty or so metres separating him from his best friend.

"A Knut for your thoughts?" James ventured, pulling Sirius out of his daze. He looked up, his too-clear grey eyes shadowed and unfathomable, but it didn't last.

Sirius shook his head, looked down at the bits of charmed metal and leather meant to hold his leg — _him_ — together, but which were only succeeding in tearing him apart. It also let James see the scars that were the cause of it all. They stood out, thick and red and raised, a layered pattern of jagged, interconnecting lines, gnarled like the roots of a vine. They told a story James wished he didn't know, one he wished he could bring to at least a semblance of a happy conclusion.

"Nah," Sirius said, shrugging, as if this motion were enough to shove his dark thoughts back into their corner, sweep them under the proverbial carpet he seemed to keep all over his mind's surface just for this purpose.

James thought his carpet was way too cluttered already.

"Care for a swim, then?" James prompted next. He'd meant to shake the bloody thing out, do some much-needed Spring cleaning — but left it as it was, after all, to gather all the clutter it could and turn it into a huge elephant that would trundle out into the open before long.

"Your Mum would kill me."

"She's your Mum now too," James reminded him gently. Sat down by his side. Sirius bit his lip, and a pang of guilt, a flash of hurt touched James. This, was new. New and daunting.

"Sorry."

"I know it will take a bit getting used to," James responded bracingly. "Especially since you don't want to change your name to Potter."

"I'd end up going near-sighted, and who will keep you from walking into walls then?"

James bit his tongue before he came out with a response that involved getting Sirius a seeing-eye dog and made everything even worse. Suddenly he wished Remus were here. He was ever so much better equipped for dealing with the chick-flick moments than James. Because they didn't happen, like, ever. And Remus liked reading those romance novels, didn't he?

"Somehow I don't believe your eyesight will suffer out of it," he said instead. "How are you feeling?"

"Better."

"You're a lousy liar, mate." It was out before James remembered that Sirius couldn't lie to save his life right now. But he had always been a pragmatic bastard.

"Chyeah," Sirius snorted obligingly, but there was no emotion behind it. "You've got that one right."

"I meant to say, what's eating at you?" James pressed on, a deep breath and plunge later. He'd never been one to beat around the bush, not until Sirius had landed, half-dead, on Godric's Hill. He'd spent the past couple of months beating around the bloody shrub so much, he'd worn a path around the thing.

But now, James sensed it had to stop. Even though Sirius was still mostly under the effects of Veritaserum, everything that had happened was finally sinking in. All of it.

At _once_.

To be fair, Sirius hadn't exactly been lucid enough to process anything for the longest time; he hadn't even been able to remember half of it, and by the time that had been dealt with, he'd gone and gotten himself half killed again.

But Sirius' mind hadn't been idle while he focused on the trial and nothing else — It had finally caught up with him, that monster of a realisation he had successfully ignored for so long, and some part of James warned it was high time to address the horde of elephants grazing around them before they were caught in a stampede.

It wasn't as though Sirius wasn't on a bloody safari himself right now, involuntarily yanking carpets away to reveal events, implications, consequences, stumbling upon realisations upon realisations he wasn't ready to deal with. And how long before the elephants decided to trample him into the ground?

Sirius only shrugged again, so James decided he'd start with a straightforward question. Test the waters, as it were.

"Is it what they said in St. Mungo's?"

Sirius nodded heavily. Offered not a word about what, exactly, bothered him most about it. Still, James knew.

"They can't know that shit for sure," James reminded him, exactly as he had last night, when the Healers had broken the news to his parents, thinking Sirius was asleep. Or deaf. Before they noticed he was neither. "You won't have to wear that thing forever."

"They might not know it," Sirius conceded. "But I do. It bloody hurts, all the time."

And didn't James know about _that_.

"We'll figure something out. Together."

"You keep saying that." Sirius couldn't understand what that even meant anymore. He'd reached his limit for vague hopes, and he'd reached it days before the trial even started. The instant he realised that Dumbledore's promises of protection had been as empty as the inside of a Dementor's stomach.

"Because I mean it," James insisted. "Look, you might not share our name, but you're a Potter now. And no self-respecting Potter lets something like this bring him down."

"Of course they don't," Sirius agreed without much conviction.

"It's the other thing, isn't it?" James asked, but it wasn't really a question. Sirius looked, if anything, more worn out than before, which was an answer in itself. He poked another hole into the sand by his feet.

James watched him mutely for all of five seconds before he did tackle it, after all. They'd probably never mention this again, but Sirius hadn't been able to think about much else since he became lucid; it was, so his excessively truthful mind informed, where everything had really started. And Sirius was piecing together much more than just a horror story. He'd even dreamt of it, and therefore, so had James, and he couldn't deny it was eating at _him_.

"What was your father doing when he found out?" James asked quietly. "In the library."

"He was…" Sirius' voice was as hoarse as it had been during the trial, but it was hollow, somehow. The Healers had saddled him with several potions, but first the Veritaserum overdose had to be reversed. They'd come to that brilliant conclusion after Sirius demonstrated just how far he could spew the pound of chocolate he'd been given to counter the Dementors' effects.

Only, he had way too much Veritaserum in him still, because he actually answered even if he didn't want to.

"He called it training. Something about preparing me for the harshness of life." Sirius snorted bitterly, shook his head. "Ironic, huh?"

Maybe, James thought, he _shouldn't_ be taking advantage of Sirius like this.

Maybe this was the _one_ time he'd get straight answers from him, though. Mind-link or no, James wanted things explained, spelled out, understood so they could be obliterated once and for all.

"'A true Black must learn to face his fears,' that sort of tripe, it was something different every time," Sirius went on, the quiet monotone contrasting sharply with the warring emotions having a mosh pit inside him. "I just didn't expect the bloody Boggart to turn into him, finding… you know." He paused, but then said it anyway. "Snuffles."

And now James was stuck.

As Sirius went into an unexpected, unwanted sort of detail, he realised something: He _shouldn't_ have taken advantage of Sirius' inability to deflect questions. Of his inability to lie.

Because now he had to say something in return, and _what,_ pray tell, could he say to him?

He knew full well how Orion's discovery of Snuffles had turned out. How it had ended in Sirius repelling the Imperius ever since. Of how it had ended something else in him, something that even eight years later kept him as tightly-gripped in its clutches as he'd been then. And as Sirius shared even more insights, he suddenly understood how this event had changed so much more, like the pebble rolling downhill to become an avalanche.

And that, James feared, was looming uncomfortably close.

"Sirius—" James' voice was as hesitant as he felt.

"You don't have to say anything at all."

"I do. Or rather, I want to." James took a deep breath, let out a sigh. "At least it's over now, Pads. They can't touch you again."

Sirius echoed his sigh. He sounded defeated. It was such a strange notion, James gave it more than a passing notice.

"Maybe not," Sirius conceded. The next moment, though, things veered sharply off-course, plunging into the deep end James had been dreading. With every reason, he realised, even as the thought formed in Sirius' mind. "But why would they want to? They've done it all already."

Another hole was poked into the sand. And another, while Sirius pondered _why_ they'd done it all in the first place. What made him so deserving of all those heapings of shit in their eyes. James didn't have an answer to that. Sirius didn't either. But part of him, that part of his brain he couldn't control anymore, was looking for answers.

James worried what would happen when he found them.

"Or not," Sirius said softly, when his overactive brain zeroed in on a daunting possibility. "What if they'll _never_ be done, James? What if it never stops?"

"I won't let them. I solemnly swear, it's really, finally _over_."

The silence stretched. And stretched. And _stretched_ , while James wished he hadn't made his brother even more miserable.

Now he felt every bit as wretched as Sirius.

"It _is_ , isn't it?"

Why Sirius humoured him like this, James would never know. But it always, _always_ worked. Even if he was upset, like now. Even if he had to wrestle his cracked mind into submission to focus on giving James what he wanted.

"Yeah," James latched onto the chance with both hands, plunged on to his other favoured weapon when dealing with an upset/bored/mildly to very annoyed Sirius Black: Deflection. Sheer, childish optimism. An overdose of the bright side, or silver lining in this case.

"When we go back, there won't be any Aurors picking on you, for one. For another, you'll get to go back to our dormitory, and you'll have to train a lot to catch up for Quidditch. Because it's _over_ , Sirius," he said, fast enough to not let Sirius get a word in edgewise.

"We _ended_ it, and you're a bloomin' hero now. Look," James showed him today's paper, which he'd brought for them to read together and forgotten all about. Sirius looked at it, but its contents didn't register.

"See? They're talking about giving you that medal, heh. I didn't think they'd take me seriously, but your resume is so pitiful it could use that boost, I'm sure. It sounds nice, Sirius Black, the hero. So stop sulking and enjoy the French blippin' _Riviera_. Go snog a French girl, there's that blonde one over there who keeps staring at you like she wants to eat you." Sirius' eyes were still fixed on the picture in the paper, though. It showed him and James getting mobbed by the reporters. He wasn't sure why his picture self kept smirking at James', and right now, James couldn't remember it either. "Mate," he prompted. "Enjoy the view, at least. Or else, we can have a race to the water's edge, go on."

"Har har har. That's very funny, Potter."

But Sirius smiled despite himself. Just a little, but it reached his eyes at last.

It was gone the next instant, but James decided it was enough, for now.

It really _wasn_ _'t_.

.

* * *

.

Their Mum called them in for early elevenses, which they had on the terrace. James was relieved when she did, because Sirius seemed increasingly… _off_.

He couldn't shut off his brain, for one, and it was running rampant in his head, punching what he perceived as the crumbling walls he'd erected and reinforced for years to keep his own thoughts at bay. He was hyper-aware and completely lost at the same time, and whenever James looked away for one minute, he'd fall back into a dread-filled, wide-eyed sort of daze, like he'd just gotten knocked over with one of his Mum's skillets and was expecting another blow.

This kind of dread was pooling in James' stomach, too, and while he was many things… Capable of handling this wasn't one of them.

He hoped his parents would have better luck, and he wasn't self-conscious about asking for help, so he handed his very unstable friend over to his mother, and went to find something else to do to keep him busy at worst, actually manage to help him at best.

Their suite at Le Grand Cap Hôtel was a magical paradise in itself. It had its own private terrace and pool — which, James had been promised, they'd be allowed to use later — and he had his own room across from Sirius', with a games lounge in the centre. James had inspected it upon arrival, while waiting for his Mum to get Sirius sorted, and found it well stocked. Distracting him would be easy, then.

Now it was also featuring a pile of letters, dropped off by a bunch of grumpy-looking owls.

James picked one up, completely confused.

_Ah._

_Valentine_ _'s Day_. He'd completely forgotten about it, but maybe it would cheer Sirius up more than the newspaper had.

They all gathered on the terrace for snacks, and his parents were on about going to the beach again later, and maybe to the village as well, and James went with it, reminding them they had to stop by for cheese for Pete and things, tried to wheedle a night at the casinos without success, and generally tried to keep everything light and cheerful. So did his parents, and it would have been even better, had Sirius paid but a little attention.

Instead, he picked listlessly at his food throughout, and only blurted out answers whenever they asked him direct questions. James felt alarm bells go off in his head, would the stuff never wear off? The St. Mungo's Healers had sent them several vials of potions to reverse it, but he couldn't tell if they were working.

.

* * *

.

"Alright, so. Dare Week 1974," James prompted a while later, when his parents had left to have well-deserved naps and Sirius seemed a little more coherent.

Sirius blinked at him from across the table, where they'd started a chess match that had gone south, because James was in the habit of asking, "What the hell are you doing?" whenever Sirius made one of his trademark insanity moves, which were just short of genius but somehow always managed to look as though he was trying to lose the game on purpose.

He got Sirius' entire strategy in an instant, one time too many. Sirius had even won one game, because James couldn't think of a way to get out of his proposed attack. Sirius' Cussing Chessmen were still mocking James in their squeaky little voices over it.

All James focused on, however, was the relief he felt upon learning Sirius was still capable of rational thought.

Then, he decided that he had to distract Sirius from his potentially harmful inward examination. Not even chess had done the trick. Too much time spent in contemplation, and Sirius could multitask like a pro. The only distraction that was possible right now, were direct questions.

"Whose knickers did you nick?"

"Elsie Pratchett, Cissy, Andromeda, Therese Chesterfield…" Sirius' mouth listed off, while his eyes wandered towards the ocean and fixed themselves there. James wasn't surprised, it was a long list; Sirius still held the school record at fifty-seven knickers in one night, almost twice the number James, the runner-up, had managed. "… Marlene McMillan, Olga Travers, and Lucius Malfoy."

" _Lucius_?" James echoed, stunned. He let out a laugh that made Sirius give a start.

"Yes."

"Does he _wear_ those things?"

"Not sure. I found bloomers, mostly. But…" Sirius shrugged. "I nicked a thong about his size, and it didn't look new," he added, while James roared with laughter. "I was tempted to take his rouge too, but Crabbe walked in and I had to dash."

.

* * *

.

"Where _did_ you hide Remus' chocolate stash?"

It had been over an hour now, and James was having the time of his life. He'd asked every question he could think of, mostly things Sirius would have told him anyway — but he'd run out of ideas, and damned if he wasn't taking advantage of the Veritaserum after all. Now, he was asking stuff Sirius had never given a straight answer to, if at all.

And if it wasn't the little treasure trove of blackmail material.

"I didn't hide it, so your guess is as good as mine." Sirius sounded less enthusiastic than his brother, but he kept trying to go back to poking at his brain every time James so much as paused for too long.

"Who do you think took it?" James asked with a frown. He'd never doubted Sirius was the actual culprit, and he was now trying to unearth memories himself, of the enormous box of chocolates and snacks that Remus had gotten for his fourteenth birthday, and the events surrounding its mysterious disappearance.

"Pete."

"Come off it, _Pete_? What makes you think that?"

"I know it was him."

"Fact?"

"Fact," Sirius confirmed. He took a chip and smothered it in vinegar before popping it into his mouth.

"How do you know?"

"Gut feeling."

"That's not enough for it to be considered as fact."

"And a good nose. He reeked of Cadbury Dairy Milk and Jaffa cakes for days. Didn't even want to have dinner that time."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Remus," Sirius answered in the same monotone he'd maintained during the trial. "He was angry. _Really_ angry."

"Yeah, but Pads— he was angry at _you_ , and then you even went and—" and replaced every last one of the damned chocolates, which had mollified Remus in the end. He also hadn't shared a single sweet with Sirius since. "And you didn't even do the deed?"

"What would he have done to Pete?" Sirius asked back. "He was _angry_."

"Are you afraid of Moony?"

"No, why would I be?"

"Just wondering. Are you afraid of an _angry_ Moony, though?"

"I'm not stupid enough not to be. You should be afraid of an angry Moony too."

"What's to say I'm not?"

"You don't know anything about real fear, James," Sirius said bluntly, and James' mouth snapped shut before he could argue the point. Out of them all, Sirius was the ultimate expert in the field. "You've felt dread, tops. If you ever see Moony really angry," he advised, addressing the sugar bowl, "put on your tail and hope you can outrun him."

"Why?"

"Because he holds back, every time. He won't if he's ever truly angry."

"And Pete?" James prompted, trying to get back to the previous mood of light banter. "Are you afraid of Pete?"

"Sometimes."

"What? _Why_?" James frowned; this was something else he'd never even thought possible. To be fair, Sirius sometimes didn't hide that he didn't quite like Peter as much as James himself did. As Remus did. And now he had to ask. "What _do_ you think of Pete, Sirius?"

"He's pathetic," Sirius answered, and James bit his lip. "He acts like he's stupid or clumsy or frightened when he isn't at all, always uses us to protect him from stuff he causes himself, then hides behind you whenever anyone adds things up." Sirius fell silent for a moment, then added, "And… he's one of us, and he bloody kisses the ground you walk on."

"Do you think he's a good friend?" James asked next, already dreading the answer to this, and to the other questions he couldn't not ask anymore.

"No, not yet. But he could be, if he wanted."

"Why do you even put up with him, then?"

"Because he's one of us. He could be a good friend. And he probably will, sometime."

"Would you be a good friend to Pete, though?"

"I already am."

"But you don't like him."

"Sometimes I don't."

And was Pete a good friend to Sirius? James had never considered the question before, either. Did James want to hear the answer to that? After learning that Sirius had already covered for Pete, and Pete had let Remus and everyone believe him the chocolate thief instead of coming clean? It was maybe something tiny in the grand scheme of things, but it still felt _wrong_.

"What do you think of me?" he asked instead.

"You know what I think of you."

"Tell me anyway."

"You're my _brother_ ," was the answer. Sirius didn't say anything else.

"Do you trust me?"

"More than anyone."

"Even when I'm being stupid?"

"Especially then."

"Why?"

"It's hilarious."

.

* * *

.

"What makes you think Voldemort is afraid of me?"

It was past lunchtime now, and they were still on the terrace, the chess pieces wandering around on the table, challenging mugs and half-eaten plates to duels to the death. And somehow, he wasn't even sure how or why, but James was _going there,_ after all.

"I know it."

"How?"

"He was reading my mind, or trying to," said Sirius, his mouth full of the greasiest hamburger in creation. "I just read a bit of his."

"You _what_?"

"Legilimency is like a door. You can cross over from both ends."

"Hadn't thought of that. Any ideas about why he's afraid of me?"

"Well, he's not, right now. Not yet. But he dreads what you will do when you grow up," Sirius answered simply. "That's why he doesn't want to let you, y'know. Grow up."

"Do you think I could… defeat him, or whatever?"

"No." It was flat. Final.

"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Sirius."

"Not alone. Nobody can defeat him alone. Not even you." Sirius took another bite of his burger. The sight of it made James want to spew his salad all over him, even if he was hanging onto every word that left Sirius' mouth. He just didn't appreciate seeing half-eaten cow being chewed on while he was at it. "But you'd probably come closer than me."

" _You_?" James frowned.

"Yes."

"Why do you say that?" And did Voldemort fear Sirius too?

"Because he'll have to get through me to get to you." It was delivered in the same detached tone as everything had been, so far, but James saw a glint in Sirius' eye that hadn't been there before. "And he knows it."

"What if we fought him together?" James asked. He couldn't believe he was even considering it, but he _was_.

"Then he wouldn't stand a chance. He knows that, too. That's why he figured out how to work that soul-sucking curse. He eats us, nobody will stand up against him for like, ever. At least, that's what he thinks."

James fell silent, his head buzzing with this new information. He closed his eyes for a long moment, trying to dissect what he was hearing. Wished he could go back to asking Sirius about pranks and things, simpler things that weren't riddled with the very clear possibility of deaths and getting sucked into Voldemort.

Suddenly, he too, felt like the Dark Lord could be lurking behind the ping-pong table, that any minute now, the Death Eaters could suddenly climb up the terrace walls and—

And when he opened his eyes, Sirius' expression had morphed into that frightening look of introspection James had wanted him to lose, at least until he was completely lucid again.

"Sirius?"

There was no answer for the longest time. James had to prompt a few times, even snap his fingers in front of him to get him to acknowledge his presence. He didn't, not even when he was looking at James in the most unsettling way.

James cursed himself and his curiosity to pieces, but it didn't undo what he'd caused: He'd tried to keep Sirius' mind off things. All he had accomplished, was to push Sirius further towards that proverbial cliff, and then he'd gone and grabbed the damn pebble and thrown it down the slope he'd meant to keep him away from. It was rolling down, gathering snow all around it, turning into an avalanche before his eyes.

"What are you thinking?" he asked anxiously.

"I'm thinking he'll kill us, James," Sirius' tone was soft, too soft and too full of certainty to be allowed, and James cursed again, past his own growing fear. It was _real_ fear, no matter what Sirius thought about it. "Somehow. Soon." His voice carried the exact amount of understanding, of acceptance, needed to make James leap up at once and run inside, calling for his Mum.

" _Mum_ , potions. _Now_. Hurry!" He was sure that the stuff the St. Mungo's Healers had sent would help. Even if he hadn't seen any kind of change in Sirius all day, it _had_ to, because he'd gone and done it and made it all worse.

 _Shit_ , he thought with apprehension a moment later, listening to Sirius lose his meal after the second potion. Did they even have enough of those? He could hear more retching, and his Mum's voice in the background.

"Oh, oh dear, that one doesn't seem to agree with you at all, does it? I thought it was the chocolate. Here, let me get that for you. Just aim for the bucket, honey, let it all out—"

"What happened, James?" Coop Potter was stretching, having apparently managed to finally unfold himself from the easy chair he'd dozed in, his hair on end and his expression curious as he listened to the sounds coing from Sirius' room. "You boys didn't spend your day noshing on sweets, did you?" he asked, mock-sternly.

"Dad… Dad, I've ballsed it all up," James said desperately. "I was trying to help, but I went and ballsed it up."

.

* * *

.

There was a fly in his room.

He watched its progress as it moved choppily this way and that, and came to the conclusion the fly was trying to fly in a smooth circle but couldn't fly except in angles. But still it tried, as every fly in creation had tried for generation after generation. Maybe some day, one fly would manage to break the norm, complete a perfect circle.

This one at least, would try until it died.

He pitied it; he knew the feeling.

Sirius looked out the window — it was dark, but not with that middle-of-the-night feeling. Instinct told him it was barely past dinner time. He also knew he was in France, at the beach. The palm trees outside his window weren't a mere illusion.

He remembered.

And then a sharp sort of nausea hit him like a sledgehammer.

Sirius shifted, just his head, just a fraction, to see where he was at just now — it hurt, a bit more than hurt and it was like his entire system had been waiting for this barest of movements, to join in with an orchestra of pounding and throbbing and pain.

The moan left his throat all its own, and it too, seemed to set something — _someone_ — in motion.

The fly buzzed out the door as it was pulled open, and there was James' Mum stepping into the room, her eyes red-rimmed and her smile relieved.

He vaguely remembered her being there when he fell asleep, stomach valiantly trying to turn itself inside out, to lose the potions, or antidotes, or antidotes for the antidotes to the potions he'd been prescribed by those idiot Healers, he lost count.

"Pumpkin," she said, sitting on his bedside and taking his hand in hers. He flinched. Just a bit, but he _did_ , and he gave her an apologetic look. He should be used to this, to her touch, if no-one else's. It had been months of it now, and it had never been harsh or painful. He should know better, and so should his system. Mrs. P never seemed to mind, but her eyes did gain a shadow over them, the only part of her expression that ever changed. Like his instinctive flinch, it was gone the next moment.

"Do you know where you are?" She asked, her voice soft and gentle. "Do you remember what you're doing here?"

"Yes, Mrs. P." He was slurring, his tongue felt heavy and so very dry against the roof of his mouth. His throat too, hurt, like someone had at it with a file.

"Splendid," smiled Mrs. P, moving to pour him a glass of water. She didn't ask him to sit up but adjusted him so he could drink. Sirius was grateful for her, the way she noticed some things. She didn't miss a beat.

"Does it hurt anywhere?"

Sirius wanted to shake his head, but his mouth had other plans, apparently.

"Everywhere. My head's killing me, and I can't, can't focus."

"Drink up, you'll feel a little better."

The water tasted nothing like water, or juice, or anything Sirius had tasted before. Its texture was like mashed ice, and only after the first few gulps did he notice how hot he felt.

"That should help for now," Mrs. P told him, feeling his forehead and frowning. "What woke you?"

"Bad dream," he heard himself say, when what he meant to say was something along the lines of, 'a fly was buzzing around too close to comfort'.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asked next, now sitting on the edge of his bed and peering under the bandages on his midriff — weren't they _done_ with those? — that the St. Mungo's Healers had slapped on him before he was allowed to leave. Even his leg was covered in a bandage filled with a jellylike substance now, quite possibly Mrs. P's doing — and Sirius wondered why they bothered, he could recall distinctly how those butchers said he'd never walk again, not without a brace, definitely not without a limp.

It sounded so final. It felt that way too.

And what would become of Padfoot if — _when_ , rather — he realised couldn't keep up with the rest anymore? What would Moony do when he couldn't wrestle and chase him around until he was exhausted? Eat Prongs, probably. Have the rat for afters.

It felt like his mother had had the last word, after all: She had always promised he'd feel her wrath in ways he couldn't imagine.

But that had nothing to do with his dream.

Which had Voldemort and dead James and dead everyone in it, and he'd brought it about and-- he _really_ didn't want to discuss it. Sirius shook his head successfully, found it came much easier.

"You know, Pumpkin," Mrs P said gently, still busy checking him over. She was amazing, really, especially now he could compare her brand of a bedside manner with the so-called _pros_. Her fingers ghosted over the parts of him that were still too painful to touch, and whenever she moved anything, he hardly felt it. "You know, sometimes it helps to talk," she said, and it reverberated in Sirius' ears. She'd never prodded him before, and even now it was gentle, like her barely-there touch.

"It's just… what good will it do?"

"You'll feel better, honey. And sometimes, when we're mixed up about something, it helps to sort oneself out with someone who can shed a light on things."

"Like… when James and I discuss how to work a new spell for a prank?"

"Only deeper," she answered with a nod and not a shred of laughter. "Whatever it is, Sirius, it needs out, you know that, don't you?"

"Yes, Mrs. P. It's just… I don't know what to do about it."

And then she went and said the words that were his undoing.

"Tell me what's bothering you, sweetie. Tell me, so I can help."

"I can't understand it," Sirius' mouth answered before he could politely decline her offer. "Why my parents were — _are_ — _so_ … so…" he hunted for the word, but nothing came to mind. Nothing occurred to his mouth either, that separate entity that had acquired a mind of its own over the past twenty-four hours.

"I can't understand it either, darling." Mrs P understood _him_ though, and now Sirius was wondering how _that_ worked, as well.

She pulled him into a hug. He tried not to tense up, but as always, there he went again.

And for the first time, he wondered, really wondered, _why_ that was. He liked — scratch that, _craved_ — being held by her, so it made absolutely no bloody sense, now he actually thought of it. He took a deep breath, then another, only to end up leaning heavily against her hold. He liked it there, to the point he wished he could just remain like this for good.

"They said I won't walk again," his treasonous mouth informed, and bugger if it didn't come out every bit as wretched as he now realised he felt. "Not properly."

"They know nothing."

"James said that too."

"Because it's true."

Sirius couldn't bring himself to answer that he _knew_ it wasn't. And it wasn't like he didn't overhear everything the Healers told the Potters. He was overdue for a growth spurt, and it would be permanent then. And just get worse later.

"Why would she do that?" He asked, and it came out more miserably than he imagined it would.

Mrs P. didn't seem to have an answer. She rocked him gently instead, and for the first time, Sirius realised _this_ was something he maybe, _maybe_ ought to be used to. Because his own mother should have done it, to the point he became like James and escaped her coddling whenever he could. If she _had_ , he would maybe not have a near-instinctive sensation of dread every time Mrs. P., or anyone, came close enough to touch him. His skin wouldn't crawl like it did, for that _one_ instant he wished he could erase from his repertoire of automatic reactions.

It was hard to crave something from someone you barely knew, though, and Sirius' first reaction to this new unexplored insight was to find it rather… _odd,_ to say the least. Out of place, definitely.

"She hates me. She's always hated me," were the words his mouth chose to utter, and the moment he heard them, he knew they were true. His mother hated him enough to let Voldemort kill him before her eyes. She'd enjoyed it, had wanted more. The next instant, he was already cringing at how bloody _whiny_ he had just sounded. He didn't care that they hated him, all those Blacks of the purest, most inbred blood. Did he?

No. He didn't.

But he also couldn't understand, " _Why_?"

"Because she's a spiteful, blind hag. She doesn't know how to love _anyone_ , Sirius, but it's not because of you."

He sincerely doubted that was the case.

He had seen how she treated Reg. He'd heard Reg's laughter trailing from her drawing room often enough, when he was stuck in his father's library for days on end, muddling through whatever assignment he'd concocted for him, or, in later years, being shown _exactly_ how little he was worth.

And why was _that_ , at all? What, he couldn't help wondering, had he done to deserve this? Because he _had_ deserved every bit of it and more, hadn't his father told him countless times? Hadn't his mother?

"Because you're not a proper Black," suddenly seemed like a thoroughly insufficient explanation.

He'd grown up worlds apart from that other universe in the Black house that was comprised of Reg and Mother and their Court of Happy Little Elves, and he barely remembered a time when she'd been around after she stopped giving him etiquette lessons in '67. Unless she was demanding he be punished harder, she had always been away with Regulus.

Until his father died, and they'd looked at each other from opposite ends of the dinner table for the first time in years without Orion Black (all hear his name and tremble) casting his shadow over everything.

It hadn't been a good dinner, and it only got worse from there.

Dinner with the Potters was so _different_. _Everything_ about the Potters felt so different, so _right_ — but instead of just going with that notion like he had for years, Sirius' brain, that Veritaserum-soaked, uncaring thing, decided it was high time he questioned _why_.

Compared one thing with the other.

One set of parents with the other.

And it lifted the carpet — a plush, heavy affair glued down by festering rot — to make him look underneath.

Then, as he was peering carefully inside, it gave him a shove.

 _Maybe_ , a nasty little voice spoke up, one that Sirius hadn't heard since he was eight and beside himself with horror, _there is indeed something terribly wrong with you. Hasn_ _'t_ she _said as much for years? And what if she was right all along?_

He didn't say it aloud — stopped himself from blurting it, but Mrs P seemed to be a mind reader. Or maybe his mouth _had_ betrayed him again, he couldn't tell anymore.

"There's _nothing_ wrong with you, Sirius," she said softly, holding him a little closer.

To Sirius, it was as though Mrs. P. were gripping his heart, or his throat, or _something_ , right where that open, invisible wound hurt most. His next breath held more than a shudder, a smidge less than a sob. A whole hell of a lot of heartbreak he hadn't even known about. Hadn't wanted to acknowledge.

"There's never been _anything_ wrong with you." A kiss was pressed onto the top of his head next, but it could very well have been a vice around his throat — Sirius choked on his breath. The next moment, he could barely get another one in without wheezing. His heart was hammering in his chest, while he looked for a way out, out of this hold, to just run, get away from the puzzle completing itself before his mind's eye before he could see the full picture. "I couldn't _not_ love you, Pumpkin. And you will find, others love you too. Just open your eyes."

Oh, he _did_. He couldn't escape this, had no choice but to.

Only, love was the one thing he couldn't see for miles around.

It wasn't a bucket of ice water. It was filled with acid, and it burned away every last hiding place for his memories, upended them in a heap on the floor like the contents of the rubbish drawer, a pile of moments that held the answers to all those questions he never wanted to ask.

"I'm here for you, honey, just try and take deep breaths, now." Somehow, Mrs. P.'s every attempt to make him feel better had the opposite effect; faced with her — utterly futile — efforts to shield him from the harshness of whatever lurked beyond them both, the contrast between his mother — the hag one — and James' own was only brought into sharper focus.

And his mind was only too happy to show him everything he'd never wanted to look at in that particular regard.

Sirius' mind was broken, yes, possibly even worse than his leg. It was also steeped so deep in Veritaserum it only dealt in absolutes right now. Such as, how torn up he really was inside. How broken his heart really was, after years of Walburga, Orion, Voldemort, of a never-ending cycle that had been death to so much in him already.

And it was absolutely shattering every last pillar of what had once been an intricate maze of a mind castle, filled with secret trapdoors and dungeons where his worse memories were kept under lock and key, walled-in and reinforced in a childish attempt at forgetting. For a mind that _couldn_ _'t_ forget anything, this was little better than a placebo. He'd kept the maze up out of sheer stubbornness for over a decade, stubbornness and fear and Memory Charms that he had twisted to serve an actual purpose.

And it crumbled absolutely.

His mind had worked relentlessly at the cracked walls even before the Dementors found the keystone and pulled it out; it had started the instant his memories were restored, the maze mapped out, the keys turned to unlock what he'd hidden from himself.

 _Absolute truth:_ It had been so much easier, to deny, deny, deny, pretend. To be a rebellious and loud and obnoxious little shit and do _something_ , however small, to deserve — or fool himself into thinking he deserved, his mind pointed out caustically — the punishment, the torture, the hatred that would come anyway, regardless if he was the perfect little Black, the perfect Death Eater, the perfect son.

Worse, was realising he _would have done it_ , gladly, had they just shown him a smidge of kindness. If his father had let him keep Snuffles and nothing else that day, Sirius would have done _anything_ for him in return.

In making him do the unspeakable, Orion Black had created this, this whirlwind of horror and pain, of resentment and sheer misery. He had pushed Sirius right into it and turned away, escalating it every day in the hopes of shattering him, because he wasn't the ready putty in his hands he'd expected. Sirius had been floundering in it for so long he couldn't find his way out again, and how could he ever hope to be rid of _that_?

A huge chunk of Sirius was desperately looking for something, _anything_ , to plug this leak before it got out of hand, not realising yet that it was aeons too late for any kind of prevention, that his voice filled the room in bursts, mouth running off and speaking the unspeakable, the unbelievable, the unthinkable whenever his throat got enough air to produce sound. That he was producing truth after truth after truth, some absolute, some which he hadn't even known he had in him, that then left his mouth with entirely too much clarity to be allowed.

The rest of him was panicking, caught in a tidal wave of emotions that had been forcibly repressed to the point of indolence and self-loathing and now spilled out, not to be ignored ever again.

It was like that day at the Lake. And that night in his room, and that other one, in Wales. And countless others, trapped and defenceless against their — _her_ — hatred, which should never have existed, but did. It was pain in all its forms and inflections, desolation all-encompassing and overwhelming. It hurt more than he'd ever hurt, and he couldn't brace himself for this, couldn't resist at all.

He could hear Mrs. P.'s voice, no longer soft and gentle but full of fear, felt her try to hold on to him as he shook, as his heart broke all over, taking hers along for the ride. Could hear her calling for Mr. P., that one other person whom he could trust ever so blindly, could hear them both telling James to stay outside, honey, don't come in just now. Don't look, whatever you do.

 _Absolute truth_ : Mrs. P. _loved_ him. She told him as much, every time she saw him in the morning, every night before he fell asleep. Every chance she got in between. She said it with every gesture, every touch, every meal. Hell, she called him _Pumpkin_ , for chrissakes. And he _let_ her. She couldn't _not_ love him, she'd said that like, a minute ago, or days ago, he couldn't tell.

And finally it clicked, another absolute truth: Mrs. P. would _never_ hurt him. She would never be unkind, no matter if there was indeed _something terribly wrong_ with him, no matter what he did. She would never even entertain the thought of raising her hand in anger, not at him. Because she _loved_ him, deeply and honestly and as boundlessly as he loved her.

Then why did it hurt so much?

The answer was instant.

 _Why_ couldn't his mother spare _one_ kind word for him? _Why_ did she go out of her way to make him feel like he'd never be loved, never cared about, never worth a second glance? She told Reg the opposite, then why not him? What, if not two years, made them so different? _Why_ did she go and do what she did? Why had his _father_?

 _Absolute truth_ : She bloody tried to _kill_ him, more than once. So had his father. They almost managed. And he _let_ them. He'd even helped _her_ along as far as he could last time, he'd _wanted_ her to succeed, just to break the cycle, put an end to it, let her win — until James and his parents got dragged into the mix and the whole thing became untenable in the space of a breath, that one breath he took to tell the Lord Thingy to kiss his arse.

It had changed everything, had changed nothing.

That was the real reason he ran from his mother as far as he could. He hadn't even been running from Voldemort, whom he saw as only one more of his parents' tools, no better than their curses and potions and threats but more permanent than either of them, more deadly and dangerous, and he'd stop at nothing to get his hands on James, on them all, and Sirius didn't know how could he live with himself if he ever managed.

And now he would have to carry that hell around with every step he took from here on out. Like he had for years.

It was different now; now he knew what, exactly, was crushing the air out of his lungs. What _really_ hurt, deep down, and it was not something that could be splinted up or mended. Now, it wasn't even something that could be ignored, or hidden away anymore.

 _Did_ he deserve this?

He honestly didn't know. His criminally indolent mind didn't, either.

He now knew what had been under the carpet, however. Now it had burnt away like so much else, like _everything_ else, there was no way he couldn't see it for what it was. Another absolute truth: every ounce of heartbreak, every hurt, every last one of the emotions he'd swallowed back when he was being —

_Oh, gods._

Worst of all was, he couldn't deny what _it_ was anymore, what _it_ had been all along. Pointless, if nothing else. It was abuse without rhyme or reason, because the reasons that were the _absolute truth_ were terrible:

Because his father was an insane, unfeeling bastard. Because his mother really, actually hated his father and took it out on him. Because he _was_ the perfect Black. Because he resisted. Because he could take it. Because he, unlike them, loved fiercely and held on tight. Because he had a mind of his own. Because he dared to defy ancient rules they themselves had hated but embraced out of fear. Because that was just how things were done in the Black family. Because once, he _had_ loved them fiercely, because he let go when it became impossible. Because he was _nothing_ they had wished for.

Because he was _everything_ they had wished for.

He could hear James' voice in his head, could feel his fears, his own demons, could see them as clearly as he could see his own, adding to the already impossible burden, making it grow to the point of agony. He kept telling him — no, _screaming_ at him, or was it Sirius screaming now? — to _breathe_ , to calm down, for fuck's sake, it was _over_ , it was _over_ , they couldn't touch him anymore, when would it sink in?

Sirius' brain told him another absolute truth: it would _never_ be over. Not while there was breath left in him, no matter what James had to say on the matter. What did he know, anyway?

Still, Sirius tried to breathe, to get a grip, put a lid on it and just get it to stop. He _tried_. He had never wanted this to happen, but it had. His brain, that resentful, spiteful, cruel and truthing thing, refused to cooperate. Not until he'd seen it all. Not until he finally got his answer to the question he'd dared to ask: _why_.

 _Absolute truth_ : It wouldn't stop until he had his answer. It didn't give a shit if he liked it or not.

He didn't. Sweet _Merlin_ , he _didn't_.

He was drowning, couldn't breathe, and what little air made it into his lungs choked out in ragged wheezes, which only made it worse.

 _Absolute truth_ : He wasn't about to die.

It only felt that way.

.

* * *

.

TBC, soon. In the meantime, you could leave a comment and share your thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, if all goes well: Coop is wonderful, James gets his shit together, and Sirius makes an important choice. Then we can get back to our usual scheduled programming.


	27. Angstermission (Part II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: The Cooper Scooper Scoops the Poop. James gets his [expletive deleted because Mrs. P does not approve of foul language] together and has an idea, but realises he's not quite fully there, either. Sirius makes a choice, with weighty consequences.

**Disclaimer** : This disclaimer was on a post-it note and was swept away by the tornado that ravaged my office. If found, forward to WB and Scholastic and JKR.

Also, the dog says woof.

* * *

**Part Twenty-Seven: Angstermisson (Part II) — What Colour Do You See?**

* * *

There was a quiet sort of movement beyond his field of vision some unknown amount of time later.

Sirius didn't know how long had passed, all he knew was it was still dark — either very late night or very early morning, his unyielding brain supplied — and he'd been staring at the shadows on the wall opposite for what felt like an age.

At some point, his system had finished blurting truths both known and unknown to him, until the torrent of despair finally died down, gradually became a trickle.

One that had stopped dripping a while ago, out of exhaustion rather than closure, and now his inner self was sitting amid the wreckage left behind by this utter disaster in a forlorn sort of daze, stunned and shocked all over and no nearer figuring out an answer to his question, never mind a course of action.

Gentle fingers were running through his hair, and it was something that had happened all night, a constant, just like the arms holding him close, the faint sound of the warm heartbeat he had been listening to for hours, his head pressed against Mrs. P's shoulder.

The touch was a wordless reminder of something he supposed he ought to know, ought to understand by now. He still shuddered at the contact. A soft shushing sound reached his ears, and it was only then that he realised there was a voice that came coupled with all of this, one that had been speaking to him all night.

"It's all right, Sirius. It's just me, I'm here for you," the voice was saying, so low he could barely hear it, so forceful he couldn't but cling to it.

Something was different, however.

A feeling he had tried to run away from more than anything made its appearance, stronger than he'd ever felt it before, like the proverbial dingleberry on top of a shit cake.

Shame wasn't something anyone liked to feel, but in his case, it went rather deeper, as it triggered a host of other emotions: guilt was prominent among them, a deep-seated sense of worthlessness, of failure.

A lifetime of Black-quality education reared its head up at once. He _should_ have kept a firmer grip on himself, should never have tugged at that string that unravelled so completely, should never have asked himself _why_.

Now he was utterly spent, felt worse than naked, laid bare and exposed and every bit as weak and pathetic as his parents had claimed he was. Right now, he'd say they were right all along; he'd failed, worse than failed, couldn't keep his monsters to himself like he was supposed to.

The truth was out, in its full and terrible glory.

And, so he found a moment later, he couldn't hide from it, or even put any of it in some hidden corner anymore, to be denied and repressed and outwardly forgotten until it became unavoidable to face it again, just long enough to battle it back into its locked trapdoor where it could rot.

There was simply _nothing_ left to fight with. Nothing but the pure, stark truth, the _absolute truth_ , that impossibly huge monster he'd been hiding from for years, one he had been staring at all night and described to the last wart. One he had no idea what to do with now, and now it would gobble him up in return.

It had been waiting long enough, hadn't it.

Worse, it wasn't just _privately_ there. He had gone and shared it with — though _dumped on_ would be a better term — the very last people he would ever have allowed to be exposed to his worst failings, to his true self. And...

There was no taking it back.

"I'm _sorry_ ," he heard himself croak out. Mrs. P only held him tighter.

"There's nothing to apologise for, son," said another voice. This one was deeper, but as gentle as Mrs. P's. James' Dad was the other weight he felt close to him, perched on his bedside where he, too, had spent the past eternally long hours.

Sirius closed his stinging eyes for a moment. They felt dry. Dry and tired and painful. Like everything else.

Sitting up was a struggle, but he went and did it anyway. Caught the concerned looks the Potters were shooting at each other as he did. Realised that his brain was pounding drunkenly against his skull, right behind his right eye.

Served it right. The bastard.

"How are you feeling?"

Sirius shook his head. Shrugged.

"Sorry. I'm just _sorry_."

"Orion was a monster," Mr. P. said next, his tone surprisingly calm, and Sirius' eyes snapped open in sudden fright. "Walburga is cruel and insane. Voldemort is worse than both of them. Those are terrible things, and they did _terrible_ things. But Sirius, _none_ of that was _your_ fault. None of _this_ is. Maybe it would be easier if you deserved it in some way, but you _don't_. You never did, son. None of it."

Sirius let out a shuddering breath, his eyes fixed on a spot on the wall opposite. There was that sensation again, like an invisible hand was crushing the air out of his lungs.

"Then _why_ —" his mouth started, while the rest of him recoiled from that question in horror.

"Why do they hate you?" Mr. P smiled thinly, but there was no amusement in his eyes. "I honestly don't know. I was there with you, and…"

"I remember," Sirius whispered. He didn't apologise again, but he wished he could. He felt like apologising until he was blue in the face, or doing something to atone for this, whatever _this_ was.

"I can't tell you one way or another," Mr. P told him, even as Mrs. P settled on the other side of him. "But I think, I think they were just incapable of any other emotion. And they were so blind, blinder than anyone. They never saw you for who you are, only what you ought to be to fit their twisted interpretation of the Black Standard. That's not through any failings of your own. And I _know_ , I know it hurts you. We feel the same way. I'm sorry too, more than you could know."

Sirius looked up at the old wizard, who was regarding him with a terribly sad expression. He realised belatedly he'd been expecting something different. Something like the looks his own father fixed him with. Not this.

"Whatever for?" he asked, earnestly confused.

"I'm sorry for not seeing it sooner," was the answer. "For not doing anything about it until now. Will you forgive me? Will you forgive all of us?"

"There's nothing to apologise for," said Sirius, repeating Mr. P's words back at him before he could catch up with his brain. "What _could_ you have done, Mr. P?"

"Something. Anything. _This_." The old wizard ruffled his hair, a white-haired version of James, who wasn't present in the room or in his head for once. Sirius hadn't heard James' voice for hours, and he was grateful for it. Facing him would probably be harder than anything. "We should have seen it sooner. I should have noticed, but I didn't. And I'm so sorry, Sirius, for not seeing it. You mean so much to me, to all of us. You know that, don't you?"

Sirius nodded before he could even consider the question.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Mrs. P asked. She sounded like she had a bad head cold, and looked roughly as he felt. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I thought everyone did it, at first," Sirius' mouth answered before he could formulate a thought, a half-processed kind of reply past the shock of what he was hearing. "I dunno, I thought my parents were only… stricter? Crazier, certainly. More old-school than others, maybe. I mostly… I just couldn't, didn't want to _deal_ with it. It's nobody's business, anyway, is it?"

"It _is_ our business though," Mrs. P pointed out. "At least, we'd like it to be."

"Why would you want that?" Sirius was mystified by what he was hearing. Hadn't they just been privy to… to… He couldn't even describe what _it_ was, just that the horrible constricting sensation was still there, ready to pounce and grip him the instant he let his guard down.

"Because we'd love to have you as our son," Mr. P told him, like it was obvious. "You're not one of _them_ anymore, Sirius, not where we're concerned. You're one of us. We choose you, all of you, just as you are, and Betty and I would be infinitely honoured, and grateful, if you will accept us as your parents, as we are."

" _Accept you_ …?" Sirius echoed in disbelief. Was the man listening to himself? Sirius would like nothing better, but he was still too shocked to say as much. After the disastrous night he'd given them, it was hard to believe they'd be remotely interested in having him around.

"To be your parents from now on," Mrs. P supplied tentatively. She looked like she didn't know what to do if he turned the offer down. As if he would, honestly. "We adopted you, but… we never asked if that is something you want."

"What I _want_?" Sirius echoed again, completely turned around. What, his brain wondered, had just happened? Mrs. P nodded. "I… I'd." Sirius shook his head, and once more, his mouth came through before he could untie his tongue, which seemed to be fighting that ever-present lump to get any sound out. "Yes. Yes, of course, I… I'd—"

He'd never get the word out. As it was, he didn't need to. Once more he was enveloped in Mrs. P's arms. The tears falling this time were exclusively hers, however. Sirius was bone dry, or he'd have joined in.

"Oh honey, I'm so relieved," she sniffled, wiping her eyes. When she pulled away, she was smiling.

"Did you honestly think I'd say no?" Sirius heard himself ask, still in disbelief. It made them laugh, at least.

"It's your choice. And _your_ choices are what matters, son," Mr. P said kindly. "Never forget that, it comes down to what you decide to do, nobody else."

"With this?" Sirius asked him. He wasn't referring to becoming a Potter.

"With everything."

"I don't know what to do," Sirius admitted hollowly. "With any of it. I can't… I can't…" He couldn't forget, or get past it, he couldn't even put words to it, and how pathetic was that? "It's like it's all… rubble. Even if it's over, it's still _there_ , all the time. And I see all the pieces, and I know I'm supposed to pick them up or something, but I can't, I don't want to pick them up."

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Mr. P said gently. Sirius had honestly not considered that as an option. "And you don't need to hide them either, Sirius, not with us. Here, there's no need to pretend you're all right when you're not, much less be ashamed for any of it. Do you think we cannot see you as you are?"

"You'd have to be clinically blind to miss it at this point." No, it wasn't what Sirius would have chosen as a reply, but his mouth, that big traitor, didn't seem to want to relinquish its grip on his vocal cords. Mr. P chuckled.

"And do you think we love you any less for it?"

"I felt… I felt you might," Sirius admitted. "Mostly, I just wish it were different." Easier to bear, for one. Less painful would be a definite plus.

"It will be. Leave the rubble where it is, until you can use it to build something else."

"Something else?" Didn't he know there was nothing of use in that pile at all?

"You'll come to find, there's infinite possibilities. And from here on out, Sirius, you're free to do whatever you please, free to make what you will of this. Anything you want. You don't want to carry that shit around with you, and that's completely natural. I wouldn't want to, either," Mr. P told him. Mrs. P didn't even chide him for his choice of words. "You do realise that's how they win, right? They'd like nothing better than to see you dragging that past around like a rock for the rest of your life, they'd like nothing better than to have the last word, after all."

"I just want it _gone_."

"I know. I was there with you."

"Yes, sir."

"You know what I saw, what I heard."

Sirius swallowed back the lump in his throat. He nodded heavily. Part of him was bracing itself for a blow.

"You know what I _didn't_ see?" Mr. P asked him instead.

Sirius shook his head.

"A victim."

When he looked up at him, Mr. P was smiling grimly.

"Oh, Orion _did_ try his best to turn you into one, and he was atrocious in ways I couldn't ever imagine. But you never once gave him the satisfaction. I didn't see you back down, or cower, or break. I saw how you protected your brother. How you did the same for James, for me, for all of us. Sirius, you've fought back, with whatever you could, all this time. You were overpowered, beaten, yes, but never crushed."

Sirius couldn't say he'd considered himself quite as courageous as Mr. P was making him out to be. Rather the opposite. Maybe, over these past few weeks, that was what bothered him most. That he _had_ crumbled, while all those things were happening. More than once.

"You were _never_ a victim; not to your father, not to your mother, not to the Dark Lord himself," Mr. P insisted, and Sirius realised he'd been speaking aloud.

"You were their adversary, even when you were six. You still _are_." He let that sink in for a few moments, his eyes boring into Sirius', holding him fast.

"And I _know_ , what just happened is only the tip of a mountain of wrongs; you're hurt in ways none of us can know yet. I know you're exhausted, and grieving, and torn, and with every reason, and no matter how long it takes for you to recover, it's _nothing_ to feel shame over, son. There's no shame to be had in _any_ of it. And," he added, "if you're too tired to fight anymore, if you decide you've had enough, nobody can blame you. We certainly won't, and we won't desert you over it."

Sirius' brain decided to give him a respite; if only to try and process this new information. Never having had anyone tell him this sort of thing before, he clung to Mr. P's every word, couldn't but feel grateful for his reaction, and hers.

"I don't… I don't want to be a… _that_." He didn't want to be a bloody _victim_ , that sounded way too much like damsel in distress, and — _no_. No _fucking_ way. The word itself rubbed him wrong. Even if he didn't feel quite brave right now either, he couldn't deny the truth in Mr. P's words. Mostly, "I really don't want to let them win." This time, Sirius was fairly certain, it was him speaking. Unbelievable as it was, perhaps to him most of all.

He'd felt powerless for so long, he could remember that so clearly now. Mr. P wasn't wrong: he _was_ exhausted, and it felt like something that had made him be _him_ had died. And his brain simply refused to tuck everything away under layers of denial anymore. So Sirius was left with the worst heartache, incapable of drawing the tiniest fraction of understanding from it, incapable of shaking it off like he used to be able to.

Or maybe he was just too tired to try.

It was made worse because this was exactly the way the Blacks had loved to make him feel. It was as though they were corporeal Dementors themselves, so everything they'd done spilled out when the real ones had one good chance to pick at his brain.

But he didn't want to think about the Dementors either. The mere notion was enough to make his throat close over again.

"I didn't think you would," said Mr. P, surveying him with undisguised pride. "I believe they got the message quite clearly when you dumped half the Hogwarts Lake on them the other day."

"Oh, yeah," Sirius could remember that clearly now. "That felt _good_."

"I bet it did," Mr. P smiled at him. "And it sent a message across, Sirius. They've got every reason to fear you now, more than they did before."

"Fear me." It came out as sceptical as he felt, and clashed with what he'd been told all his life; that he was worthless, unfit to even lick the ground they walked on. He was nothing to them, not even worth their time unless it was to show him precisely what they thought of him.

"Sirius, _really_?" Mr. P. actually chuckled in disbelief, like he'd missed something important. "Don't you see that's why they always come after you in droves? There's strength in numbers, and something about you makes them feel that they can't possibly beat you alone. Haven't you considered it is because they really, honestly, fear you?"

Sirius stared at the old wizard, completely speechless. Even his treasonous mouth needed some time to formulate a reply, but it came after a moment.

"Mother said something like that, didn't she," he said slowly, frowning. "But, Mr. P. I was trying not to wet myself, every time. How could they possibly fear _that_?"

"Because that's true courage, son. Courage is when you choose to do something, knowing you'll lose, despite your fear. And you overcame it, didn't you. That night you trapped _Voldemort_ inside our Quidditch Pitch and made it _chew him up_. Nobody has ever made that bastard _bleed_ , Sirius. Nobody except you, and you could barely remain on your feet even before. _That's_ how much of a victim you are. _That's_ how much you yield against the most impossible odds, and _that_ terrifies those cowards more than anything."

Sirius let that sink in, chest heaving as he rehashed that particular set of memories.

"I was lucky to make it out alive, though. I thought they'd kill me," his mouth informed. "And I… I just wanted it to be _over_. Give you time to make a break for it, dunno. Make it count for something. Even if it meant letting them win." He shook his head in defeat. "I was taking the easy out, Mr. P."

"And yet, you _didn't,_ the instant you had the smallest chance," said Mr. P firmly. "You're still here, lad, aren't you? Why?"

"James," Sirius answered. "He kept shouting in my head. Said to come back, to get out of there, and I had to." He shrugged, addressing the floor once more.

"Because James _told_ you to?"

"He made me swear, didn't he, that other day. I wish he hadn't."

Mr. P gave him a long look, then pulled him close.

"You might not be, but I'm glad he did," he said. Sirius thought everything would have been easier if he hadn't. "We'd miss you too much."

This wasn't exactly something Sirius expected to hear. He hadn't even considered how any choice of his would affect anyone else. Self-pitying as it sounded, he thought they'd all just move on.

He realised he'd been wrong, so wrong. He'd been wrong not to go to the Potters right away. He'd been wrong not to open his mouth years ago.

"And now this," Sirius mumbled. He'd been wrong to open his mouth _now_. Would he ever get it right? "I'm sorry you saw this, too."

"We aren't," Mr. P said honestly. "Sometimes things just need out, don't they?"

"Yes." His mouth said it, so it must be true. Why did he feel so wretched over it, then?

"You need to understand, that door, the easy out, will _always_ be there, Sirius, and it will not always be as clear as choosing life over death," said Mr. P., confirming once more, that he'd gone and said it.

"Mostly, that door will try to make you forget how to _live,_ and that's what you need to focus on now. Some days, it will be shut so tightly you'll forget it even exists or that it's even an option, and other days, it'll be wide open, radiating every last act of cruelty they inflicted, with their hatred and blindness and that grip they will always try to keep on your soul. Take that door, go through it and close it behind you, and they'll have won."

Sirius swallowed dryly. He hadn't expected Mr. P to say any of those things, to lay out the facts of his horror story of a past and look at them and speak them and turn them into something, that was maybe not easy — no, not easy by far.

But _manageable_ , perhaps.

Mr. P had just given him a choice he never felt he had before; he hadn't ever seen things from that perspective. But those words, coming from the old wizard regarding him with respect, with _pride_ , were shaking something loose in him, something he had felt he'd lost forever. As it turned out, it was only under heaps of rubble.

"What's behind door number two?" he asked in a tiny voice.

"Anything you want, son. Happiness, if you want to call it that; a chance for it, at any rate. A family, as real as we can provide. Safety, for as long as this blasted war allows. A future of your own making. Freedom to do anything you want, to become anything you want. With our full support, no matter what you decide."

"It's our choices that define us," Mrs. P said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Sirius didn't flinch. "More than blood or our pasts."

"I hadn't thought of it that way."

"It will not happen instantly," Mr. P reminded him gently. "But it _will_ happen, if you truly want it to, and we'll help you as much as you need. Just promise me one thing."

"Anything, sir."

"Come to me, to Betty, to James. When it gets to be too much. When you can't sleep, or focus, or can't tell what's real and what isn't, when that door opens again, even a crack. _Tell us_ , Sirius. Do not be afraid or ashamed to. You'll never find judgement here, or indifference, just support."

"I will."

"I know it's overwhelming right now," Mr. P said. "But we're here for you, and we're not going anywhere. Don't forget, the choice is yours. You decide what to do with this."

"What would you do with it?" The question was out before he could bite his tongue. He found he didn't mind it as much, now.

"I'd turn all that hurt into strength," was the prompt answer. "You're still here, son. You're still around, and every day you manage to grow without fear, every day you enjoy to the fullest, every night you go to sleep with no regrets, is their failure. That's how _they_ lose." Mr. P. smirked. "Or when you kick their collective backsides, of course," he pointed out, eyes dancing. "They lose then, too."

"Oh, let's don't encourage him," Mrs. P. told him in a long-suffering tone. "He's barely out of those horrible bandges as is."

Mr. P had the grace to look abashed, but Sirius' brain was, once more, grinding into gear. His gaze wandered to his leg, almost despite himself.

"She did always promise she'd break me. How do I turn _that_ into strength?"

"She didn't break you," Mr. P pointed out. "She just broke your leg."

"I know. I'm lucky I'm here at all, but…"

"You're not telling me you believe that tosh the Healers were feeding us?"

"They _said_ —" Sirius protested, or tried to.

"They said a lot of things. Turns out, they didn't even get your bloody potions right, the idiots."

"You're not wrong about that," Sirius conceded with a grimace. "But they _said_ —" Again, Mr. P didn't let him finish.

"Do you know how many times we've heard that since December?"

"That I wouldn't _walk_?" Had they known all along? Was that why they were so calm about it?

"That you wouldn't _live_. That you wouldn't last the night, hell, that you wouldn't last two hours, or ten minutes, or _five_. And look at you now, sitting up and everything, the Wizarding World's newest hero." Mr. P grinned at Sirius, who was again, reduced to gaping at him.

"Don't you see? We've got a full _month_ , lad! That's more than enough to sort this minor problem. Just try not to break your leg again in the meantime."

Mr. P was radiating confidence, like _it_ wasn't a an insurmountable thing at all. Like there wasn't _something terribly wrong_ with him, like he didn't care even if there _was_. Like anything was possible, because they'd be there for it. Like they already _had_. He was contagious, in more ways than Sirius could pinpoint just now.

"I'll try," Sirius said honestly. He couldn't see any fault in his new Dad's reasoning at all. "But I can't make any promises. The thing cracks if you so much as look at it wrong."

 _The Potters are good people. They're Master's friends, and they're powerful. Master will be cared for there_ , an old elf's voice rang suddenly in his mind, a scrap of recollection spoken in a secret tunnel what felt like years ago.

 _Ellie, how right you were_ , he thought, feeling a very unusual sensation of gratitude well up as he saw James' parents — his now, as well — in an entirely new light. He wasn't unaffected by it, either; he gave a startled, disbelieving chuckle.

A moment later, he realised the constricting sensation in his chest was gone. So, incidentally, was his headache.

.

* * *

.

Dawn was breaking by the time Coop left Sirius' room. Betty refused to leave his side for even one second, and he understood that their newest — official and confirmed, now — addition to the family needed her brand of support rather more. Yes, the situation seemed to have been defused for the moment, but Coop wasn't ignorant of what a war did to kids, and he wasn't deluding himself into thinking that Sirius would now magically improve.

That would only come in time, with all of their help.

All he had given him was a choice.

It was now up to all of them to hope he'd choose something that was right for himself, help him make it a reality.

Incidentally, that last would take some time. But he had faith in Sirius, who was maybe hurt, but far from the wreck he perhaps could — or should — be. And he had faith in them all as a family. Together, there was nothing they couldn't achieve. He _had_ to believe that, or they'd all be going down the same downward spiral they'd just barely managed to fish their newest son out of.

And wouldn't that be a novel occurrence.

He was so caught up in his thoughts, he almost walked over James, who was sitting right outside the door, his head buried in his arms.

" _James_?" Coop asked, bewildered, giving his son a hand up. He took in the wide, bloodshot eyes, the pallor and shock written all over his face, so similar to the expression Sirius himself was still wearing, like he'd start screaming again any second if he was left alone long enough to string two thoughts together. Had he stayed out here all night? "What are you doing here, lad? You've got a perfectly good room."

For an answer, James tackled him in a fierce hug full of anguish and an equally desperate sort of gratitude, and Coop understood.

James had made a good, if risky choice when he decided on Sirius as his brother, and he was learning now that even the best choices could be difficult to bear, that some problems were larger than he could imagine, that good intentions were only part of a solution. But he wasn't about to back down, and Coop was prouder of his son than he could put words to.

They were peas in a pod, in so many ways. And yet so different from one another. If — No, not if. _When_ — they overcame this, together, they would be a match for anything. Nothing anyone threw at them would shake them, and he wasn't naive enough to believe this was the worst that would ever happen in their lives. Not with this blasted war escalating daily.

He had heard every one of Sirius' words, after all, had witnessed some of it firsthand. Voldemort was out for their blood, and Coop had been right in thinking they needed to step up their game. The War, part of him sensed, would be fought out by these two, whether or not they wanted any part in it. The Dark Side, so Sirius had told them, would never stop trying. Not until they were all dead, or worse. And, like Sirius, Coop was adamant on preventing that from happening.

He would just have to get them ready for it, because together, they would be unstoppable.

He hoped he and Betty would live long enough to see it happen. Even if they didn't, though, their boys would be all right, as long as they remained true to one another. Even now, as shaken up and shocked and hurt as they were, not even Voldemort could break them. He could kill them, but not break them.

"Come with me, my boy," he said a while later, when James seemed to get a grip on himself at last. He smiled, ruffled his son's hair and regarded him fondly for a moment, while he composed himself. Sirius wasn't the only casualty of this war, after all. James was just too overwhelmed to notice, and it was high time he spent some quality time with his lad, had a talk, man to man.

"It'll be just the two of us this morning, I'm afraid." He said, more cheerfully than he felt. "So, let's get you cleaned up and then we can see if breakfast in this place is as marvellous as the brochure says. We can go shopping after, your mother needs some time alone with your brother." And maybe Coop shouldn't be enjoying his choice of words so much, but he and Betty had always wanted a second child, and he couldn't but bask in the feeling. That they'd already been parents - the only parents he'd known, at least - to Sirius for over a decade, however, weighed heavily on his heart. "So, I'm wondering how we can best invest our time. I've always wanted to visit those Muggle casinos, myself, and your mother would never allow it."

To Coop's relief, James wiped the tears from his face and smiled. It only came out half forced.

"Monte Carlo?" he asked, hopeful. He wasn't as far gone as all that, then.

"Why not? It's a new day, for new things. Let's have a bit of an adventure."

.

* * *

.

Sirius opened the door to his room, washed up and freshly dressed. He'd spent the past couple of hours being treated to Mrs. P's particular brand of care, and he couldn't deny he felt _worlds_ different from last night. Lighter, somehow, and steadier, but he suspected it was because she had used every trick in her bag, and not through any real improvement of his own.

Not that it mattered: for the first time, he felt as close to relaxed as he'd ever come, like he had a grip — albeit a shaky one, but it was better than nothing — on that monster that was let loose last night, rather than the other way round. And he also felt uncharacteristically…

 _Hungry_.

James and his Dad had gone out for the morning and Mrs. P went to freshen up, so he was left to his own devices for a while. This, too, was a welcome change. He loved the Potters to bits, but right now, there was nobody talking to him, asking questions he couldn't but answer with the truth, making him fall upon more realisations than he could handle. He was aware that he needed time to come to terms with more than he'd originally thought, but like Mrs. P had told him mere moments ago, there was no need to push it; he'd done enough for one day.

Sirius couldn't but agree; just getting through today seemed challenging enough.

He explored the suite at last — he hadn't before — and was considering taking a dip in the pool, when there was a knock on the door that made him jump.

Instantly, whatever semblance of calm he'd had went out the window. Suddenly, he was completely on edge, his mind providing a myriad attack scenarios, ears and nose scanning his surroundings for any telling scents or sounds.

Sirius grabbed his wand and limped to the foyer as quickly and silently as he could. Heart hammering so hard he could feel it against his Adam's apple, he peered through the peep-hole.

Outside, there was a lanky figure in black robes. The rest of the hallway was deserted, but Sirius wasn't about to take any chances. He raised his wand—

"What's the matter, Pump— _what are you doing_?"

"There's someone at the door," Sirius informed. "Stay back, Mrs. P, I'll just… _Oppug_ —"

"Sirius, stop!" Mrs. P hurried towards him, and then there was her hand on his, gently pushing down before his Strike Spell was out. Sirius stared at her, wondering what the hell was going on. How could she be so calm about it? How could she be so _fast_?

Mrs. P peered out the peep-hole, let out a deep breath, then looked him in the eye. When she spoke, her voice was kind. Kind and firm. "Put your wand down, sweetie."

"But— There's _someone_ _at the door_ ," Sirius protested at a hiss. "I'm _sure_ —"

"Yes, there is indeed someone at the door." Mrs. P confirmed calmly.

"We should—" What he was thinking, which involved a lot of leaping behind couches to take cover and things, never made it out.

"We should," Mrs. P agreed, her brown eyes boring into his, "take a deep breath, Sirius."

"But—" Both her hands ran down his arms until she was holding his hands in hers, in a touch that was meant to ground him, not restrain. Sirius was momentarily torn between his sense of urgency and her calmness, between listening to his instincts or the voice of reason.

"But," Mrs. P said clearly, "it's just the hotel manager, Sirius. There are no Death Eaters in the corridor, no danger. You'll see in a second." She smiled at him without malice. "If I'm wrong, you get to hex him. If I'm right, you'll be polite and say hello." And she opened the door, before he could stop her.

"Ah, Madame _Potterre_ ," a tall, lanky wizard in what Sirius could now see were dress robes and a tuxedo, said in a heavy French accent, bowing low before her. "Ah hope you are enjoying your stay, oui?"

Fine. So, she was right. It _was_ the hotel manager. Sirius put his wand in his pocket, perplexed, relieved, and a bit abashed. He gave her a helpless shrug. Mrs. P. fixed him with a pointed look. And was she trying not to laugh?

"Thank you, Monsieur Sadine," she said politely. "The service has been excellent."

"We are thrilled to hear that," said the wizard, then turned to Sirius with a welcoming smile. "Ah, oui, bien sûr, ça doit être notre invité d'honneur," the wizard exclaimed, sticking out his hand for him to shake. Over his shoulder, Mrs. P nodded encouragingly, eyes dancing with amusement.

"Milord _Bleq_ , we are — what's the word? _Tellement honorés_ , most honoured, to have you here with us."

"You're too kind. Thank you." Well, she did tell him to be polite, didn't she?

"Will you be gracing us with your presence long?"

"Um. No, we've got to return to school today. Merci beaucoup," Sirius said, his hand still caught in a very enthusiastic two-handed grip.

"Bien sûr, bien sûr," the wizard said, still not letting go of his hand. Sirius' look turned rather bemused. "You have an excellent _prononciation_ ," he added, and Sirius was sure now Mrs. P. was trying not to burst out laughing. "Parlez-vous Français, par hasard?"

 _Ah, crap_. Sirius gave the wizard a mirthless smile.

The next moment his mouth took over controls.

.

* * *

 

.

It was around eleven when James and his Dad returned, laden with bags and packages and looking like they'd had a blast in the Muggle world.

"What's the occasion?" James asked, giving their dining room a once-over and whistling through his teeth at the sight. "Will we have to dress up for lunch?"

"Oh, you would look _so smart_ if you did," Mrs. P. said, patting Sirius' arm comfortingly — he'd jumped about a foot in the air when he heard the door — and getting to her feet. They had been going through the Valentine's Day cards he had received from school, but they were forgotten in an instant.

"That lovely hotel manager came up to say hello to Sirius," she added for an explanation, going up to James and giving him a big hug and a kiss.

Sirius didn't miss the look she exchanged with Mr. P, who was bringing up the rear. The smile and wink she got in return. The relief she radiated right after. It was as though James' parents had a soul bond themselves, an entire conversation wrapped neatly up in less than a second.

Mrs. P didn't miss a beat: she was already levitating the parcels towards a table for closer examination.

"Oh, darlings, that is so sweet of you. That is a lovely pashmina, thank you," she said, and James and his Dad beamed at her. "Anyway, that lovely man wanted to do something nice for us, so he asked Sirius what he wanted to eat. Did you know he's fluent in French?"

"Yes, actually," James answered, adding his bags to the rest. "I also know he's secretly afraid of clowns — well, that's not much of a secret anymore, is it? — and he also hates styrofoam noises, loves to eat pepper even if it makes him sneeze, and would be over the moon if he could have a pet gryphon." He shrugged when he saw his Mum's look. "What? We did have a lot of time to kill yesterday."

Mrs. P shook her head and ruffled her son's hair. Then she smiled and added, "Don't pick on him, James."

"Aww, Mum… Don't take the fun out of it, go on."

"You've been warned," Mrs. P called back from her room, where she was probably trying out her present in front of the mirror. Mr. P followed suit.

"So, this is your doing, then?" James had already turned his attention on Sirius, but his smile was gone.

Sirius looked at him from the other end of the room, feeling a pang of guilt, a brief urge to put some distance between them both. Only, distance wouldn't work, he knew that as well. And since his brain was still roasting on a spit, he couldn't just stay silent, either.

Which was the whole problem here.

"He asked, James."

"Yeah, I've heard that's all it takes." James sounded strangely dispassionate. "I never thought you'd be this classy, though," he said next, surveying the polished silver, the elegantly-laid table for four that promised an excellent meal. "It beats the Continental breakfast we had earlier, and it's not even served yet. Although the crock sandwich thing was pretty good."

"It's called a croque monsieur," Sirius' mouth corrected quietly. "And that - that was all the lovely hotel manager, not me."

"Well, our elves should learn how to make it," James decided, but all the lightness had gone from his tone. He had come very close, and Sirius looked down contritely. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I'm standing around in the buff for everyone to see," Sirius answered. "But, it's still better than what it was before."

"Really?"

"Much," Sirius confirmed softly, addressing the floor. "Your Mum's amazing."

"She is that," James agreed, staring at him.

"And, y'know. Your Dad's a corker."

"Yeah. Him, too."

There was a silence, but they had never endured uncomfortable silences for long. And they simultaneously decided they'd end it.

"James…" Sirius started, at the exact same time James said, "Sirius..."

"I'm sorry about last night," they chorused. James laughed a little. Sirius didn't.

"You couldn't help it."

"No, I couldn't." Sirius looked down again. "I wish I could've. She asked, James."

"I know, Pads." It wasn't mocking, or reproachful. Instead, when he looked up again, James seemed wretched. "I made it worse, though. I couldn't help it, either. And _yesterday,_ I shouldn't have asked—"

"It's not your fault, though."

"It's not yours, either."

"I know. I'm still sorry I dumped it on you like that," Sirius admitted. "It just… got away from me."

James looked closely at Sirius, and it wasn't judging or angry or even curious. He looked worried, like there was something on his mind, but he was afraid to ask. Whatever it was, he didn't say it.

Sirius was inwardly grateful.

"Dad said we can do the impossible, together," James said instead. It wasn't really out of the blue. "I really meant what I said the other day, you know."

"I know," Sirius answered. "I'm not going anywhere, either."

James fixed Sirius with a long, thoughtful look. He didn't say anything else, not about the things he'd seen in Sirius' head, not about the things he still wanted to ask. Instead, he nodded to himself, then grinned.

"Good, because life would be very boring without you. Hey," he said next, "look what Dad and I got for you." He summoned something from the pile of things they'd brought back. It looked like a stick wrapped in paper.

And it _was_ , a walking stick, to be exact.

"Dad said it'll help you not keel over, you know, while we figure out how to fix your leg," James informed, sounding like his usual energetic self again. "I think it'll be brilliant when we've upgraded it, but in the meantime you can whack stuff with it, so it's not too bad."

"Thanks," said Sirius, and he meant it. But now the topic was changed, and he couldn't not go with it, so he asked, "Where did you go?"

"Monte Carlo," James said with a smile. "It's _amazing_."

"What did you do?"

"Winning," James smirked. Showed Sirius an enormous bag of Galleons he'd brought back. "So much winning. We went to a casino. Don't tell Mum," he warned as an afterthought.

"Your secret's safe with me. Y'know, as long as she doesn't _ask_. Then you're buggered. How did you win all that gold?"

"That lovely hotel manager exchanged it for us. I had like, a suitcase full of Muggle paper money by the time Dad decided we ought to come back. We should go to those casinos together sometime, Pads. It's so _easy_ , mate. There's this thing called a roulette, right, and everyone bets on a number, and if you make the little ball fall into the slot you picked without anyone noticing, you _win_." He chuckled in disbelief, as if to say, 'those Muggles are nuts, eh?'

"So… basically, you cheated."

" _What_? No," James retorted, but he looked confused. "What makes you say that?"

"Well. You went to a _Muggle_ casino. They _can't_ make the little ball do anything, that's what makes them Muggles."

"… _Ah_." James looked so turned around, Sirius couldn't help laughing.

"So you mean to say, they _don't_ try to make the little ball fall into the slot they picked?" James asked. "They leave it to what? _Luck_?"

.

* * *

.

"All right," James said firmly. "Let's do this one more time."

Sirius let out a groan and flopped back onto the sand in frustration. His leg brace let out a protesting, rather grating squeak at the motion, which only seemed to further Sirius' overall impatience. "Shut up, you." He tapped it with his fingers, and the loud noise was gone again.

James regarded him for a moment, his expression completely impassive. He and Sirius were at the beach again, wearing sand clothes and with dabs of sunscreen on their noses, courtesy of their Mum.

It didn't look that way, but they were also on a mission.

Well.

In all fairness, _James_ was on a mission. Sirius had disengaged five minutes into it, his too-vigilant eyes darting constantly over his surroundings as though he expected his hag of a mother, or his cousins, or bloody _Voldemort_ to suddenly walk out from behind the tiki bar or something. This pattern had surfaced often enough over the past few hours for James to decide it was the new constant.

At least he wasn't in a passive sort of daze anymore. The village idiot look did definitely _not_ suit him.

Neither of them were able to bat an eye even after the horrible night they'd had, so when he returned from Monte Carlo — after a good talk with his Dad (and more Galleons than he could count) — James had pity on his exhausted parents and decided to take on Sirius duty. And since his new brother was in a much improved mood himself, yet still incapable of independent thought, he had grabbed the new cane he had picked out for him, grabbed Sirius, and marched him outside.

Not that he minded spending the morning with Sirius, he never had. Sirius didn't so much as protest; he didn't want to be alone with his thoughts either.

Sometime between taking the lift down the cliff that deposited them by the hotel's private bay, James had also decided to do _something_ about it.

They couldn't afford a repetition of last night, especially not if his parents weren't around. Sirius _definitely_ couldn't handle another, and he wanted to go back to Hogwarts later, so James had put him to work.

And since his baked best friend was still, well, _baked_ , James had formulated a plan that ought to be safer than asking him impertinent questions. Those, as he'd seen, could very easily turn sour, and he'd learnt his lesson there. Sirius' inner editor did exist — never mind what Moony had to say on the matter — but he was pitifully out of commission, and James hoped this too, would pass. Because if it didn't, what would they do?

So, he'd come up with this newest attempt to help Sirius' system finally finish metabolising the Veritaserum.

If he could only speak truths, even truths he hadn't known existed, then he'd simply have to truth him out, right?

Simple as.

"Sirius." James was using his Quidditch Captain voice, and it predictably succeeded in making said baked best friend sit back up and his eyes zero in on his. He held up a blue bouncy ball up under Sirius' nose. "Tell me this ball is pink."

" _James_ …" Sirius' tone held a hint of a whine. They'd been at this for three hours, twenty-two minutes. Therefore, three hours and twenty minutes too long for Sirius' liking.

" _What colour is the ball_ , Sirius?" James asked, unyielding. He watched Sirius focus on it, eyes almost purple in the bright sunlight. "Well?"

"It's blue," Sirius blurted. Then he groaned again holding his head, the only one of them who was swimming today.

"No, it's not," James replied casually. "I see it's pink. What colour _is_ it, Sirius?"

"Blue."

"I say it's pink. What colour _is_ _it_ , Sirius?"

"Gah, _enough_!"

"You're not even trying!"

"I _am_! I just can't bloody _say_ it!" Sirius huffed, fixed James with the Black Death Glare, tried to whack the ball out of James' hands with his new cane. All to no effect.

"Try, mate," James urged. "Try again. Try _harder_. You can't go back unless you're truthed out, what will happen if Googles comes and asks you what you've been up to? What if someone else does? Come on, tell me it's pink, or red, or anything you like, but _tell_ me— what colour is the ball?"

"It's pi— it's pi—" Sirius _was_ trying, his face screwed up in concentration. "It's…"

"What colour is it?"

"It's pi— IT'S FUCKING _BLUE_ , POTTER! Don't you have eyes?!"

"I see it's kind of mauve," James conceded matter-of-factly. "And it has a reddish tint to it."

"It's _blue_ , dammit! Solid blue!"

"No, it's not. What colour do you see?"

" _Blue_!" Sirius sounded desperate. James didn't give an inch.

"What colour is it, Black?" He was yelling now, too.

"It's blue! Blue! It's bloody _fucking_ blue!"

"No, it isn't. It's _pink_ , Sirius, I'm sure everyone can see it's pink! What. Colour. Is—"

"It's pink," Sirius said abruptly, his eyebrows raised as if to prove his point. "There, it's pink, are you happy?"

James _almost_ cheered. Until he looked at the ball in his hand. He was holding a very bright, very pink sphere, with the words "FUCK YOU" in bright blue letters. He heaved a sigh that turned into a defeated chuckle.

"That's not how it works."

"It's _not_ working, Potter, can't you see we're wasting our time?"

"Fair enough. Tell me this ball is blue. With 'I love you' written in yellow. Aww, that's ever so thoughtful of you."

"Grah, Potter, _enough_."

" _What_?" James erupted. "It's the only thing left! We've got to truth you out!"

"I'm fed up, and frankly, this is stupid." Yep. Sirius was still as blunt as a whale.

He fell back onto the sand, dragged his leg into a more comfortable position with a motion that was becoming increasingly practised.

"What the hexing hell are you doing?! We're not done yet!"

"I'm tired. Give me a sec."

"You're going to take a nap." James stared. "He's taking a nap," he informed no-one in particular. "You can't take a bloody nap right now! You almost had it that time!"

" _Five_ minutes, Potter. C'mon. It's only fair."

"You never sleep for just five minutes," James groused.

"I put up with your stupid ideas for hours, it's only fair you lemme take a break."

"It's not a stupid idea—" James erupted, but Sirius was already drifting off, and James had to admit he needed this too, even if it did nothing to help their present truth troubles. He'd spent the entire weekend in a dizzy sort of haze, when he wasn't chucking up his food or having epic panic attacks.

This state of mind was amazingly suited for brooding, for breaking down, which was what his system was still trying to do and pointedly _not_ what James was making him do. And yet, Sirius _had_ humoured him. He was just exhausted.

"Want me to get Mum so she'll cuddle you?" he asked next, keeping the grudge in his tone at the barest minimum.

"It would be nice," Sirius mumbled.

"Seriously?" Sirius, though, didn't rise to the bait. He never did anymore.

"She's special, your Mum."

"She's your Mum now too."

Sirius sighed, but the pang of guilt James had felt from him before was gone from his system. Now all James sensed, past Sirius' hotly-throbbing head, was a whole lot of gratitude and a warm fuzzy feeling that had so rarely made it across their bond over the years.

"Yeah, she is, isn't she?"

James suddenly cupped Sirius' face in his hands, jolting him awake. He gave him an adoring look.

"What the hell—" Sirius sputtered, startled.

But James only moved Sirius around exactly like he'd seen his Mum do countless times, until his head was on his lap.

"What the blazes are you _doing_ , Potter?"

"Hush, Pumpkin, you'll feel better in a jiffy."

"What the hell _are_ _you doing?!_ "

James grinned widely. "What does it look like, man? I'm cuddling you." He batted his eyelashes at Sirius again, ran his fingers through his hair. It was surprisingly soft and thick and devoid of knots, and had their Mum given him a haircut?

He had expected Sirius to leap up, wide awake again and cursing at him. He had expected Sirius would then give up on his nap and grumpily get back to work. James honestly didn't expect him to get comfortable on his lap and all but melt into the sand.

"Better, Pumpkin?" He asked anyway, in more than a passable imitation of Betty.

"Yuh." Sirius looked up at him with sleep-fogged eyes. Honest, the bloke was about as awake as a cow in a field during a hot summer afternoon.

James smiled warmly at him, still impersonating his Mum. "I love you so much, Pumpkin," he said, staring adoringly into Sirius' eyes.

"I love you too, James," Sirius murmured back, looking half in the Land of Lala already. He sounded so well, serious, so _truthful_ , that James nearly tossed him aside.

" _What_?!" He was genuinely alarmed, scandalised and turned around.

The grin that spread over Sirius face was impossibly _evil_. So was the sensation of triumph that reached James through their bond.

 _Gotcha_ , it said. _Now stop squirming and give me five minutes._

"Bastard," James groused, but then let out a disbelieving laugh. If there was something he hadn't expected Sirius to be capable of doing in his state, was joke. Sirius though, was still using him as pillow, his weight pinning his legs in place.

Sirius chuckled. It started off as one anyway, but then diffused into a soundless laugh.

"Har har har, that was very funny." James shook his head, he'd never live this down. "… Sirius?"

But he was already asleep.

James didn't want to move. He'd give him five minutes, he decided, then mock him relentlessly for the rest of term.

Yep, that sounded about right.

.

* * *

…

Half an hour later, James was seriously wondering what the hexing hell he was doing. Sirius was deeply asleep, even after his every effort to gently wake him up, and he looked so out of it, he didn't have the heart to shake him.

So, James took pity on him and decided it was a lost cause. Sirius hadn't had a full night's sleep since Blackpool, not without a Sleeping Draught; he'd kept account of it. Letting him have this was important too, after all.

This wasn't so bad, really.

The view was greatly improved too, when a group of French witches skipped and giggled out of the lift, headed for the warm sea. A couple of them even waved at him. James waved back.

Maybe he should make Sirius a pillow or something and join them? It would greatly improve _his_ weekend. James had to admit it had been mostly lousy so far, but then he pictured Sirius waking up alone out here, and decided to stay put.

No sooner had he made his decision, that the sand started to itch and prickle. The heat was becoming uncomfortable, his shirt was sticking to his back, and the sun seemed to shine on them all the harder.

Maybe he ought to send out a Patronus so his parents came over and did their thing? He dismissed it the next moment, because that would probably wake Sirius up. He could maybe shout for his Mum, James thought next, but dismissed the idea as well: that would _definitely_ wake Sirius up, and he didn't want to startle him.

James' mind wandered. He started absently transfiguring bits of sand — Sirius was soon covered in tiny doxies, stags, grims soundlessly yipping at the world. There was a miniature Hogwarts on his shoulder, and a minuscule golden Quidditch Pitch with the tiniest fliers in creation, but though James kept adding to it, his mind had long drifted miles away.

This whole situation had long exceeded his capacity for adaptation, and every turn of events held so many blows, that even from his spot — so he felt — on the sidelines, James was too overwhelmed to think straight.

Last night had been the worst, the proverbial elephants in Sirius' mind hadn't merely stampeded, and the flood of emotion that had slammed into him from Sirius' end had been too much to bear. James had closed himself off when he realised his guilt for causing this, his panic when he couldn't help fix it, his own feelings on the matter, were making matters worse, blending with Sirius' own into a twisting kaleidoscope of horrors both real and perceived, but — and this was what scared him the most — he hadn't been able to _help himself_.

He'd heard it all from the spot where his knees had given way, right outside Sirius' door. He'd heard every bit of that Veritaserum-induced deluge of sobbed-out words that spoke volumes to him, that had engulfed them all for ages, unstoppable and grim. His Mum had told him earlier, it was because she'd asked. She'd _asked_ Sirius to tell her what was bothering him, a simple question by all the looks of it… and no-one had been ready for the answer.

James hadn't known it ran so deep, hadn't dimensioned the actual, very tangible enormity of the issue. Sirius never told, never even hinted at it before. He might never do so again, and James decided, he would remember this.

Just because he couldn't see it, like now where Sirius looked peaceful and blissfully out of it, it didn't mean it wasn't there all the time. And just because his Dad was amazing and had managed to get Sirius — and James himself — out of a very promising depressive state before it really even took hold, didn't mean it wouldn't happen again.

If he counted the fact that Sirius now saw Death Eaters where there were only nice hotel managers, James thought it would happen sooner than later. And _when_ it did, he needed to be there for it. And not to make things worse, like he had last night.

He needed Sirius truthed out for that very reason. He needed his best friend back, or at least lucid enough to move on to something else, together. Something that wasn't the threat of Death Eaters lurking under the bed, or Sirius' mother's shrieks that rang in his ears when he let his guard down, or Voldemort promising him he'd give him the Potters, whether he wanted to or not.

James heard them too, after all; for all his magical prowess, Sirius had lost his capacity for blocking himself off, and James realised, all this time he had been in shock, his perception mostly limited to what James himself perceived as reality, because he plain couldn't tell the difference.

Even now, Sirius hadn't yet acknowledged the fact he'd been fully acquitted, hadn't even realised what kind of massively good news it was. He couldn't see it past the Veritaserum and Dementors still running around in his head, past the myriad recollections and emotions they'd shaken free. If he were awake right now, James mused, he wouldn't even be able to appreciate the chicks skipping half-naked around them, absorbed in their very loud, very bouncy game of volleyball, because he couldn't feel the slightest shred of relief.

He'd get him there, James decided, with the same resolve he radiated when he'd come up with a new undefeatable Quidditch strategy a day or two before a game. He'd not just _get him there_ , but he'd give him every opportunity he could to see the good in everything.

Now _that_ sounded like a good plan. He'd get to it at once.

But he needed to do a wee first.

James tried to shift his weight and looked down at his pinned legs. Sirius was still breathing deeply, his sleep unbroken by nightmares for once. He also noticed, his brother would get turned into a crisp soon. James himself was starting to feel rather toasty, and he didn't have that Black pallor that came from not having a single molecule of pigmentation in their systems.

He remembered his Dad telling him it was a rare form of albinism, when he asked why Sirius' eyes turned that freaky reddish-purple hue if he was in the sun too long, why he burned so easily. He'd said that Sirius had gotten it mildly. Where his eyes were a dirty sort of white, he'd been lucky enough to have at least some tanning capability. Unlike Reg, whose eyes and hair were the only thing about him with colour, and who would never have managed half an hour at the beach without being doused in sunblocking potions and possibly a body suit. Of course, then his Dad had gone on to explain the mechanics and consequences of inbreeding, and James had gotten entirely too much information to process at age seven.

Mild albinism or not, Sirius would just burn out here, end up as red as his eyes had been going. And James was about to wet himself, which would not only wake Sirius up, it would just be disgusting.

The hundred or so little figures all over Sirius started shifting, assembling themselves into a letter.

_Dear Mrs Potter,_

_Kindly come out to the beach to collect your newest son, who zonked out on top of me. Pls hurry, need to urgently do a wee._

_\- Your favourite son_

_PS, bring chocolate ice cream and an umbrella. Newest son is flammable._

The letter started flying and tumbling towards the hotel, and a moment later, Sirius stirred at last, but nowhere that was convenient for James; he gave a bit of a jump, then seemed to develop a rigid sort of tension.

"Shh it's okay," James murmured, when his mind's eye spotted too-familiar images. "It's just a dream."

It wasn't a dream. It was a waking nightmare, and James had to forcibly yank himself away from getting sucked into it. Dream or no, Sirius was suddenly _cold_. His lips were turning blue, and he wasn't stirring awake— he was shivering in his sleep.

Suddenly James felt it too, in the flesh: a wave of frost that went right through him. The way the sun wouldn't touch his skin anymore. A flash, more than a flash, of overwhelming sadness, of utter hopelessness.

 _It is not I who shall hurt the mutt, Sirius_.

James leapt to his feet as if stung, and never mind his previous efforts— Sirius rolled over in the sand, every bit as startled as James _hadn't_ wanted him to be upon waking.

"What…?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"We need to get you up, we need to get out of here, come on." James helped him to his feet, even as the sky darkened all around them, the cold became harsher still.

"Why's it cold? _Oh_ —" Sirius caught on faster than James had. "Gods, oh _gods_ they're here James, it's _them_ it's them oh _shit_ oh shit go get your Dad— y- y- your Mum—"

"I got you an extra large one," a happy, oblivious voice said, and James' head snapped up, momentarily blinded by the harsh light. "You'll have to share, lads— what's wrong, James?"

"The— those things, the Dementors—" James blurted out, still half caught in his panic.

"There's nothing here, honey." His Mum put down the bowl, crouched down next to him.

"But… but… He was— he's cold and everything, and… and."

"Son." Betty caught James' eye, shook her head. James' eyes wandered to where Sirius was, again — still, rather — deeply asleep on his lap, his skin turning a vibrant cherry before his eyes, his mind blank and devoid of any thought. Hadn't he helped him up an instant ago?

"What just happened?" James asked, heart hammering wildly in his chest.

"That link of yours," Betty said, kissing the top of his head and waving her wand to cover them both in sunblock. "How does it work?" When James failed to answer, she gave him a look she usually only reserved for Sirius when he was doing poorly.

"You must've dozed, honey," she added, sitting down next to him and handing him the large chocolate ice cream he'd asked for. "Here, this will help."

Her fingers ghosted over Sirius' damp fringe, and predictably, he started awake with a yelp.

"No Dementors," she told him with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Just a dream, boys." Sirius stared at her dazedly, grunted out something that sounded like, "Yeah… 'kay." He was fast asleep again a moment later.

"Did his dream bleed into mine?" James asked. He was still shaken up. "Or was it the other way around?"

Sirius _hadn't_ been dreaming, James realised— this had been all him. And how could he help Sirius now, when he so clearly needed him to stay on point, to be the one who knew what was real and what wasn't, if he couldn't tell reality and imagination apart himself?

"I don't know," Betty told him, arms wrapped around him comfortingly. "Maybe it was just too much sun, maybe it's nothing. You're tired too, honey, sometimes that's enough to turn us all around. Come, your father wants to have a family meal before we go back. And that lovely wizard is already sending up more food than we could eat in a week."

.

* * *

.

Their Mum insisted they dress up for their ever so fancy lunch and get ready for their return to Hogwarts, reminding them for the billionth time that it was below freezing in Scotland, that she didn't want them to catch cold again, and they looked dashing in their dress robes and suits, and why not give her this _one_ moment?

James suspected she had an invisible camera snapping pictures somewhere, too.

"Mum, _really_? We'll never live this down," he protested. "They're going to say we're a pair of nancys. Why can't we just wear our school robes?"

Sirius didn't think anything of it, but James was now nothing if not aware of what he'd grown up with, so he didn't even ask him to back him up. It all spilled out from Sirius' thoughts regardless: Casual attire for breakfast, work robes for instruction, specific outfits depending on outdoor activity, casual or semi-formal for lunch, semi-formal for high tea and formal for dinner, day in and out unless there was an event. Then it was all tails and white coats and black coats and he'd had to learn to tie cravats and bow ties and double Windsors before he could even write his name, and it was a blessing they were wizards and could change into fresh clothes with a flick of a wand, otherwise half the day would be spent bloody changing.

In the end, of course, they humoured her. They even posed for some snapshots, their first family pictures for the album. James thought his Mum was only being sentimental, but he grinned and joked and made them all laugh, even Sirius, and their — now extremely late — lunch was a markedly more cheerful affair than the one they'd had the previous day, helped along by an excellent service and even better food.

James wasn't sure what had brought this about, exactly, but he wasn't about to complain. He was starving as only a starved Potter could starve, and, he was glad to see, he wasn't the only one.

Sirius seemed much less inclined to slipping into that frightening sort of introspection, and, though he was still blunt and entirely too truthful every time he spoke, James couldn't miss that he looked loads better now. He was eating, for one, not just picking at his food.

He did give more than passing notice to the irony of it all: Forty-eight hours ago, Sirius had been in shackles, reviled by every wizard and witch in the world, and now they were bending over backwards and serving him roast boar and frog's legs and snails on the house, along with at least twenty other dishes he didn't know the names of. James understood it was meant as an apology to _The Black,_ for doubting him, only after his third helping of the best ratatouille he had ever had.

This wasn't lost on Sirius, either, but he accepted it courteously and with a sort of unassuming grace James had never really seen from him before, and he had the distinct sense the potions weren't to blame for it this time.

It clicked a little later, between the quiche and the chickpea cassoulet: In the decade he had known him, James had never _once_ seen Sirius truly calm — the haughtiness, the acting out, the downright hyperactivity and the big gob, those were all the reactions of a Sirius under stress, part of his coping methods to offset the hell he dragged around, to be worn like more of the myriad outfits he had to change into every day. Sure, it was all part of his personality, but right now, none of it was needed. Something his parents had done last night (quite possibly also largely aided by the Veritaserum he was still hopelessly steeped in), had made the real Sirius surface, for the first time ever.

James, who was hogging the artichoke hearts au gratin with entirely too much enthusiasm, decided this new Sirius was pretty cool. And if his presence could get them free food like this, he'd make sure they _went places_. Like, they needed to come here more often. Whatever they said about the French — they could _cook_.

James and his Dad regaled them with a grand tale of their morning's adventures in Muggle Monte Carlo, the casinos and shops and strange, interesting things they'd seen, which kept the conversation going…

Until there was a silence.

It was a short one, all things considered, but like the previous day, Sirius' mind took the tiniest chance to do its thing and thinking about his Dad's words and rehashing the single worst night any of them had spent, in between bites of his boeuf bourguignon.

James' alarm bells didn't even get the time to _ding_ once, when Sirius opened his mouth.

"About last night," he said, in that soft, pensive tone James had quickly learnt to dread. He stopped chewing abruptly, while Sirius' brain sorted out whatever his mouth would blurt next. "I… I said some things, didn't I."

All three Potters looked at each other.

Then they burst out laughing.

"God love you, Sirius," said Mrs. P. She pressed a kiss on top of his head, smiled fondly at him.

To James' surprise, he smiled back, looked down, back to turning everything over in his mind; this, he didn't want to forget, or deny, or pretend hadn't happened.

This, James realised, for all that it had been torture for his new brother, had turned into the single best day of his life.

Today, Sirius had decided, he was free from _them_ , because that was what he _wanted_ to be.

And they could go bugger themselves blind if they didn't like it.

It didn't fix everything, but James sensed that this mindset wasn't wrong by half. And if there was one person tenacious enough and hard-headed enough to grab that terrible past he could now recall in vivid detail and kick it into submission, that was Sirius.

He could sense that at this point, Sirius had reached his decision without a clear plan about what to do next, but he was truly, doubtlessly resolved not to let _it_ call the shots anymore.

He'd figure out the details later.

James decided, while reaching for the ratatouille again, this time he'd be there — and lucid enough — to help.

Like Sirius, though, he wasn't entirely sure how to go on about it.

They'd take it a day at a time.

.

* * *

TBC, sometime soon. If you've read this far, share your thoughts. I'd love to hear what you think!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up Next: We return to our regularly scheduled programming. Pete leaves the Hospital Wing, Snape is a bastard, there's Valentine's Day stuff - Which Remus spends with his crush, so it's not all bad, but they find something that is. And then there's the Moon, and the Marauders come together again.


	28. Part Twenty-Eight: Return to the Atmosphere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: We see what the rest of the world has been up to of late. Rasmus moves out and gets his own place, the Lord Thingy feels bereft. Snape stalks a Black, Remus stalks a McAlpin, the Order of the Phoenix has a meeting, and Voldemort makes a plan to stalk the Ministry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own my dog. I am presently trying to not own my rat, any takers?

 

* * *

 

**Part Twenty-Eight: Return to the Atmosphere**

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* * *

 

.

Planning a party when you were Gryffindor's resident Fifth-Year Prefect and Werewolf Marauder shouldn't have been a difficult, stressful affair.

But it _was_.

Not getting everything in place, no. That part went off without a hitch, thanks to the judicious application of a few well-placed Transfiguration spells in the tallest Astronomy Tower. He didn't even have to look for anything; the House-Elves had grabbed his list of snacks eagerly, celebrating that they'd get to do the catering for Monday's party, and James had left him everything he'd need in the Come-And-Go Room.

It was everything else that made getting ready for this party a bit of a nightmare — Peter had spent the weekend in the Hospital Wing, so Remus was rather short-handed; that same evening, word had spread around the school that Sirius had been cleared of all charges, and once again his face was plastered all over newspapers and magazines. Not that Remus minded that bit. It was all the kids wanting to ask him about James and Sirius what was driving him insane.

Witch Weekly just had to do a double feature, filled with pictures of them as they left the trial, where James said something to make Sirius let out one of those rare smiles that could melt ice — and apparently the winner of the Most Charming Smile Award had been selected months in advance this year.

That didn't mean he had to get dragged into every conversation surrounding the event, did it? When he had to explain for the third time that Sirius' and James' coats were common Muggle greatcoats, not a new trend at all, and no, he didn't have a clue what time they'd return if at all, and yes, he was sure they'd be back soon, Remus decided he'd had enough.

Not to mention, the Moon was later today, which made it hard to keep himself in check even on a good day. Times like today, he relied heavily on James and Sirius to keep him focused, even on Peter, and this weekend was the first he'd spent without any of his friends. He had snuck into the Kitchens last night, had eaten a good-sized raw steak there, but it wasn't the same without the other canine half of the Marauders to fight for every bite. Since December, nothing seemed right, and the last two moons had been terribly depressing.

If James and Sirius didn't show up today… Remus was already dreading the outcome.

The wolf in him had had enough. It was cranky after the turmoil of the past few months, and that anger was starting to bleed out into his everyday existence. He was so _not_ made for emotional upheavals, and despite telling himself that he'd see his friends again this afternoon, it was hard to hold his impatience in check.

Then there was Marlene. Remus had spent Friday and Saturday with her, shadowing Nina's every move. He hadn't seen anything suspicious, but Marlene was a bit obsessed. The result of these past forty-eight hours was, his crush was growing into something a bit less explicable. For the wizard him, it was an endless source of nerves. For the wolf him it translated into something else entirely, and he decided to give her the slip today before his sudden drive got the better of him.

 _At least Pomfrey will release Pete now,_ Remus thought with something like relief, as he made his way to the Hospital Wing. They could go to Hogsmeade, pick up an extra crate of Butterbeers for the party, maybe grab a bite. The walk would to both of them a world of good. He knew it would help the wolf a whole lot.

Physically, Peter looked much better than he had all weekend, but he was jumpier, hungrier, and grumpier than Remus had ever seen him. The snacks he'd brought for him were gone before the two of them even crossed the Hogwarts gates.

Also, Peter seemed too quiet. Remus wondered why; he had potions accidents all the time, and never really seemed to mind. Today, he was having a bit of a sulk, for no apparent reason. When Remus asked, Peter only muttered he was still hungry.

"Why didn't you bring more biscuits?" he asked shortly, huffing in the cold.

"We'll get something to eat at the pub," Remus told him, trying to sound more upbeat than he felt. "I'm sure you'll feel better when you get some of Rosmerta's Sunday roast in you."

Peter gave him a thin-lipped smile, buried his hands inside his jacket, stomped onwards in silence.

When they reached the village's busy main street, though, Remus caught a familiar whiff of smell— Nina was here. He spotted her a moment later, walking past a row of stone houses. Yesterday, he and Marlene had seen magical movers busy there, but not who was moving in.

Now, he spotted a tall wizard with white-blond hair smirking down at Nina, who had just bumped into him.

"Sorry," she said distractedly, as Remus and Peter came closer on their way to the Three Broomsticks.

"You vood haff more to you care," the wizard said in a heavy Eastern accent. Remus was no expert, but he'd peg it for Romanian, maybe Russian.

"Sorry," Nina repeated, and Remus' nose wasn't lying— he smelled _fear_.

"Alright, Nina?" he asked, eyeing the wizard suspiciously.

"Remus! Peter!" Nina exclaimed. He hadn't imagined it at all; that bloke frightened her. "What are you doing here?"

"Lunch at the pub," Peter answered, his ill mood suddenly damped. "Want to join us?"

"Yes!" was the overenthusiastic reply, and Remus took a chance to look at the wizard more closely, placed himself between him and her. Ice-blue eyes fixed themselves on him, and Remus suddenly felt scrutinised, threatened. His hackles rose, and he had to bite back a growl. The wizard smelled funny, too. Like cloves mixed with expensive aftershave.

Remus didn't waste any time putting some distance between them.

"I heard you had an accident, Peter," Nina was saying. "What happened?"

"Oh, er." Pete answered, "I spilled an unfinished potion on myself… But Pomfrey regrew my fingers."

"Ouch," Nina said, examining Peter's hand, which sported a very pink index and middle digits. "You're all better, though?"

"Yeah," Peter assured her. Remus wondered why he was lying.

They had lunch at the Three Broomsticks, and Peter's mood seemed to improve with liberal applications of food, and Nina's fright seemed to be a thing of the past as well.

She looked and acted normal, joked around with them, shared in their collective relief over the outcome of the trial. There was nothing to suggest that she had a penchant for suspicious conversations with disembodied voices, for sneaking around in abandoned corridors.

She didn't smell like an animal either, Remus noted, after trying to sniff her without her noticing. She did come back from the loo smelling of perfume, though.

By the time they made their way back to Hogwarts, carrying three crates of Butterbeer and a purloined bottle of Old Ogden's, Remus was convinced there was nothing wrong with Nina at all.

.

* * *

 

.

Rasmus Thanatovich congratulated himself for his choice of a semi-permanent address: It overlooked the Hogsmeade town square and hardly anyone could come into the town without being spotted from his magically enlarged terrace.

He had long outstayed his welcome at the Dark Lord's manor, and he welcomed the privacy his new home provided. It might be much smaller than he was used to, but after working some clever spells, he had managed to fit in a few extra parlours and stretched the garden as far as magic would allow.

Now he was perfectly-positioned to immerse himself further into his personal pet project, he thought, looking around the snowy street with satisfaction. Yesterday, the Hogwarts students had been all over the place too, and he watched them, trying to decide which of these young souls would be most useful to provide him entry to the school. He liked his research as hands-on as he could, and if the papers were to be trusted, Black and Potter would return to Hogwarts today, so Rasmus could be excused for his anticipation when his doorbell rang in the early afternoon.

"You have managed to turn this into a homely little nook," Voldemort said, stepping inside and looking around, two boxes in his hands. "Here, I brought you a little house-warming gift."

"Spasibo," Rasmus said, but his smile turned into a faint grimace of disgust as he opened the first box.

Inside, he saw the rather ripe head of Derek Riordan.

"You not should haff," Rasmus said anyway, "I vill not, I think, put in open," he added drolly. Voldemort chuckled.

"Rasmus, my dear friend, I have a task for the two of us to undertake."

"I am ears," Rasmus answered, but he already had an idea what it would entail.

"Ears and legs and hands," Voldemort agreed, laughing genially. "You and I," he informed, "will infiltrate the Ministry. Some of my associates have, ah, been placed there recently, awaiting their trials. In light of our recent experience, what say you if we give them a hand and break them out?"

"Da," Rasmus agreed, waved his wand to place the heads of the Riordans in dark green glass balls, where they were quite invisible… and the dreadful smell vanished. He looked at them. "I can put out now."

"Will you do this with me?" Voldemort demanded.

"I vant for to go into Hog-varts."

"I have recently acquired a rather gifted potions-brewer. Two, if rumours are to be believed."

"One hand put vater on other hand and vash?" Rasmus suggested.

"Of course, I'll get you Polyjuice."

.

* * *

 

.

Sirius kept glancing at the clock as though it was asking him questions.

James figured he had a point, but _man_. He hadn't even tried half of the desserts that had been dished up yet.

"Mum, we're going to be late," he said anyway, inwardly wondering why moons in winter always rose so early. He didn't ask; Sirius, he was sure, knew this stuff and he was in no fit state to keep the answer to himself yet.

"It's Sunday, what in the world could you be late for?" his Dad asked curiously, his fork hovering over a delicious-looking slice of chilled lime pie.

"Remus," answered Sirius promptly, and James was sure his Dad hadn't missed the sharp look he shot at his best friend. Sirius gave him an apologetic one in return. "Sorry. He asked."

"What's the matter with Remus?" his Mum wanted to know next.

 _Aaaaah_.

"Nothing," James said before Sirius could open his mouth. He gave James a bemused look. "It's just—"

"He needs help—" Sirius started.

"With his Transfiguration essay!" James interrupted, a tad too loudly. "It's due tomorrow and he's hopeless, isn't he Sirius. Doesn't he _need us there_?"

"Yeah. He needs us to be there, Mrs. P."

"But can't you stay a little longer?" James loved his parents dearly, but boy, did they ask questions.

"No," James replied, hoping it would be enough for once.

"We've got to be there at moo—"

"Around three would be great," said James with a grin.

"Four forty-four," said Sirius, after a moment's concentration. "And six seconds."

"That's rather specific." And now his Dad was curious too.

"We've got to be on time," Sirius told them gravely. "Not a second late, Mrs. P. It's important."

James had to bite back a defeated laugh.

"You're doing time-based spells?" his Dad asked, frowning in confusion. "For _Transfiguration_?"

"We're doing Transfiguration at a certain time," Sirius' mouth informed. James wished he could spellotape it shut.

"Yeah, Dad." _And please stop asking_ —

"It's got to be on the dot, and it's the full—"

"So, we ought to go at three," said James, interrupting Sirius yet again and giving up on his dessert. "Now would be good too, there's loads to get ready before we do it."

"Oh, all right. We can take them out for dinner, though, can't we? Minerva told us she's giving you some time off," she told them. "So you can recover, Sirius, and you too, James, so don't forget to see Poppy upon arrival."

"Okay."

"Yes, Mrs. P."

Sirius was staring at the clock again.

"Oh _all right_ , all right," Betty relented with a sigh that was just a tad discouraged; she, too, was looking mournfully at her slice of mille-feuilles.

.

* * *

 

.

Their Dad went through the fire first, and James followed. Then their Mum went last with Sirius.

"Hello and welcome back, Mr. Black, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore greeted them, his eyes twinkling.

"Hello, Professor," James chorused with Sirius.

"Your baggage has already been taken to your dormitory," said Dumbledore, "but if there is anything you need, don't hesitate to— Mr. Black, what are you doing?"

Sirius was peering behind the heavy curtains in the Head office.

"Just checking, sir," he said matter-of-factly. "Where'd you put them?"

"I'm afraid I don't follow. Mr. Black?"

"The Aurors." His nose was twitching, but he managed not to tell how he knew the Red-Robed nightmares were still around. Instead, he stared expectantly at the old Headmaster.

"While Aurors will be patrolling the castle and grounds—" Dumbledore started, but he cut himself off when Sirius turned towards their Dad.

"Mr. P.?"

"Yes, son?"

"May I choose not to stay here?" he asked.

"You mean, you want to _leave_?"

"No," Sirius admitted. "But I don't like the Aurors."

"Why is that?" Dumbledore wanted to know.

Sirius actually scoffed. James was glad to see he wasn't limiting himself to just automatically providing answers anymore.

"They're a bunch of bastards, aren't they, if I don't see another one of them in my life—"

"Sirius, _please_. Language," his Mum admonished gently.

"Sorry, Mrs. P." At least Sirius meant the apology. "They _are_ , though."

"Is he still under the effects of the Veritaserum?"

"Yes, the Healers—"

"Those unzipped idiots got all the potions wrong," Sirius supplied. "I spent half the time chucking up—"

"Sirius, _please_."

"Sorry, Mrs. P. _Vomiting_ was the word I ought to have used. I nearly vomited my large intestine through my nostrils, that's what I meant."

"It has been rather difficult," his Dad said carefully. James was shaking with suppressed laughter.

"Well," Dumbledore said, eyeing Sirius closely. "Let me just… _Fawkes_!"

The Phoenix perched on Sirius' arm, regarded him closely.

"'Sup," Sirius told the bird.

Fawkes cocked his head to the side, then threw it back and trilled out a chilling note that made their hair stand on end. Sirius stared at the thing like it had just grown horns. James had a very distinct sensation, one that was very similar to the despair and hopelessness he'd felt from Sirius last night, but before he could shoo the phoenix off his best friend, Fawkes fluttered onto his shoulder.

It looked like the bird was crying next, letting tears drop on top of Sirius' head.

Sirius staggered back into a chair, his head spinning so madly, so suddenly, James had to brace himself against the fireplace to keep from falling over too. A moment later, though, he could sense Sirius' mind working loads more clearly. Even better, he felt stronger all of a sudden, emboldened. Like he should.

"Is that it?" James asked.

"That ought to do it," Dumbledore said, thumbs hooked on his belt.

If he had a Knut for every time he'd heard that lately… James decided he'd test it. He held a red squeaky ball under Sirius' nose.

"Sirius, what colour is the ball?"

"Oh, not _again,_ " Sirius moaned.

"Humour me," James instructed cheerfully. "If you manage, you get to keep it."

"I've got my own bal—"

" _Sirius_!" their Mum exclaimed, scandalised. James's grin grew all the wider.

"Whoops. Sorry, Mrs. P." Sirius replied, unrepentant. "I _do_ , though."

"C'mon," James urged. "I see it's pink. What colour do you see?"

"Red," Sirius muttered, quite despite himself.

"Gah. _Again_."

" _James_ …" Sirius was whining now.

"Come _on_. How else will we know?"

Sirius took a deep breath.

"Redredredredpurplewhiteyellowgreen. _Whoa_." He caught the red ball before it hit his face. It squeaked, and James had the distinct sensation that Sirius was itching to sink his fangs into it.

"Oh thank you, Albus," their Mum said. "If we had only known— Are you feeling all right, honey?"

"Yes, Mrs. P. Just a bit dizzy. But loads better."

"We'll be coming by," their Dad promised a little later, when they were saying their goodbyes. "And we'll sort out that leg, all right?"

"Yes, Mr. P," Sirius answered, and he was feeling hopeful about it, at least. James hoped it would last, as his Mum kissed the top of his head in parting and then pulled Sirius into a big hug. For once, he didn't give a start. Instead, he returned it.

"I love you, Pumpkin," she told him fondly.

"I love you too," was the surprising answer. Apparently it had finally sunk in.

"What was that?" James heard his Mum ask, "I didn't quite catch that."

"You heard," Sirius said, without a hint of embarrassment.

"My hearing isn't what it once was. My ears fail me in my old age." And bugger if she wasn't twinkling like bloody Dumbledore.

Sirius held her at arm's length, and said very clearly and very solemnly, "I love you, Mrs. P."

James' mouth fell open. There was no way this could be blamed on any loopy potions this time. His Mum beamed, she gave him an even bigger hug.

"I heard you the first time," she confessed, but she looked close to tears. Sirius gave her an odd look, as though he couldn't understand why.

"I know," he said.

"Oh, Pumpkin, I'm going to miss you," she said, planting a kiss on top of his head before drawing him in once more.

"I'll miss you too, Mrs. P."

"Be good, you hear?"

Sirius actually grinned at her, pulling away.

"Don't push it."

.

* * *

 

.

Peter didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed at how easily everyone had believed his story about his "accident" in Dungeon 5. Nobody questioned him, even Remus just gave him a worried look and argued little when the Nurse shooed him away. He'd promised he'd come back, but right then, Peter had wished he wouldn't.

Only partly.

The rest of him craved his friend back, wished desperately to return to that once-blissful — or so he saw it now — time before the Christmas holidays, when he'd never even have entertained the notion of going behind his friends' backs. When he hadn't ever even considered what would happen if they were gone, when Snape left him alone for fear of what James and Sirius might do to him.

When he accompanied Remus to Hogsmeade to get lunch and Butterbeer for the party, Peter struggled to keep his anger in check— he had to keep reminding himself that his so-called friends had no idea what had happened, and somehow managed to convince himself along the way that it was because they didn't care.

But then Nina joined them and turned the tables on him. She bought the accident story easily enough, even looked at his reconstructed fingers and asked if he could move them alright and if it hurt.

Peter felt rather mollified after that.

A twinge of guilt came next, when he admitted to himself that he _could_ tell Remus about it, and even tell Sirius and James when they returned later — and, he further admitted to himself, his friends would never let this slide. Snape would get what was coming to him.

He resolved to do just that, and by the time they were marching back to Hogwarts, he'd even nicked a bottle of Old Ogden's to celebrate the successful conclusion of the Marauders' latest adventure; Snape didn't know what he was on about; there was no way his friends would desert him, that had been his fears talking, right? Sirius evidently hadn't said anything about them being Animagi, and that alone was cause for celebration.

At three on the dot, he and Remus were waiting by the gargoyles to Dumbledore's office, and Peter was quite ready to put Friday's ordeal behind him. He'd tell them everything, get payback, put this behind him as well.

When the gargoyles finally leapt aside and James and Sirius walked out the doors looking like they were going to a ball, Peter's emotion was genuine.

"Aren't you a darling pair of nancy boys?" he said for a greeting, grinning widely. James grimaced. Sirius smirked.

"Let's don't start," James suggested, but he _was_ smiling as he clapped Peter on the back. "Remus said you had a potions accident."

"I'm all better," Peter assured him, deciding he'd tell them once they were all settled in.

"Good, because you'll need both your hands to carry that," Sirius said, gesturing at the large parcel James was coaxing out of his robes pocket.

"We got you this from France."

"Cheese!" Peter exclaimed, and his grin widened.

"Ugh," said Remus.

"You know nothing, Lupin."

"And this is for you, Moony." James handed him a book, which Remus opened eagerly.

"A French phrasebook?"

"Edited," James said conspiratorially, and Sirius chuckled. "You never know, Mr. Moony, you'll probably travel eventually. Hey, Sirius. What do they call the likes of him in France?"

"Sorcier." Sirius was already limping down the corridor at the top speed of a snail on a hot tarmac.

"No, that's wizard, right? I mean, the other thing."

"Loup-garou, why?"

"See, Remus? You'd be Lou Gary over there, it could get confusing. You need a phrasebook, unless you're bringing the live version of it with you." James nodded his head at Sirius, and even Remus laughed.

Sirius then stopped short at the foot of the Grand Staircase.

"Where are we going?" he asked. "Shortcut outside is that way," he added, gesturing to the left of the stairs.

"Common room," said James.

"Shouldn't we be going to the Shack, though?" Sirius asked.

"In a minute," said James. "We need to make sure you can transform first."

"Oh. Right." Sirius frowned. "Can't we just use some classroom for that? Transfiguration is right over there."

"I want to get out of these duds," James confessed.

"Why? You look great," Pete threw in, but his mouth was full of Gouda and it failed to get the point across.

"You do look very distinguished."

"You sound just like my Mum, Remus."

"Gryffindor is too far, though," Sirius argued, then struck up the way to the Transfiguration classroom anyway. "At the rate I'm going, we'll get to the Shack by moonset."

"How are you feeling?" Remus asked him, catching up in two long strides. Sirius groaned.

"Not you as well."

"He's better," James answered for him.

"All better?" Peter asked.

"From the neck down, you know," James clapped him on the back, and Sirius let out a short laugh. "Mostly."

Transfiguration was empty, and a few quick flicks of their wands closed the blinds.

"Let's see it, then," Peter prompted.

Sirius focused for a moment… and then they all stared.

Padfoot was suddenly right in front of them, and it was such a different sight from what they were used to, that they all fell silent at once. The only sound was the noise the leg brace made, when it clattered to the floor.

Peter hadn't seen him in dog form for months, and it was a rather sorrier sight than he'd expected.

Gone was the thick, sleek coat, and though the dog in front of them was huge, it looked like it had been hit with a bad case of mange. Entire sections of his back and sides had no fur on them, just ugly, jagged scars. His right hindquarter looked oddly out of alignment and not at all like it would hold his weight. He was painfully thin and gave the overall impression of something that had just escaped hell than the majestic animal they'd grown used to seeing.

Peter figured he wasn't wrong in that assessment. Suddenly Snape's words hit him full force.

_"How long do you think they'll last? The Dark Lord is taking over, Pathetigrew, and your stupid little friends are going down. It's only a matter of time, can't you see it with those mousy eyes of yours?"_

Peter swallowed. He couldn't not see it, now the truth of those words was staring him in the face.

 _"_ _Black won't make it through this year, nor will Potter. And what will you do then?"_

"You look like a Grim," he told the huge dog in front of him. Privately, he thought he looked like the Grim was coming for him.

"He's always looked like one," said James, but he was giving the dog a mournful look.

"Yeah, but now he looks like the books say they look," Peter pointed out.

"Nonsense," Remus countered, his voice a throaty sort of snarl. He was sniffing the air, and his eyes had turned a bright yellow at the sight of Padfoot. Pete wasn't sure that was a good thing. Neither did Padfoot: his hackles were raised, fangs bared. The growl that came out was threatening enough, and Remus gave himself a shake.

"Sorry."

Padfoot gave him an unimpressed, rather annoyed look. The one that said, "Bring it." Peter hoped they wouldn't have another epic territorial row. Padfoot didn't look like he could make it through even a tiny spat, and he was too shocked still to forget why that was.

_What will you do then?_

Remus didn't seem too keen to test it, however, which was good. A moment later, Padfoot was doing a three-legged sort of limp around them, sniffing them all, feet and hands and robes and—

"Oy!" Pete yelped, when wet dog nose bumped his backside from behind. "What the hell, Padfoot!"

But Padfoot wasn't liking what he was smelling. He growled out a warning that seemed to say, "Watch it, roadkill." Peter shut his mouth with a snap, shut his eyes tightly as the large dog sniffed him from head to toe.

"Okay, that's quite enough, Sirius," James said, stepping between them. "He says you've got a weird smell on you."

"That's— that's probably the potion," Peter squeaked, thinking on his feet. "I just got out of the hospital wing before lunch, I'm wearing the same robes." And he'd caught it, he realised to his dismay. Sirius had just sniffed Snape on him, hadn't he? Suddenly he felt all the more apprehensive.

_What will you do then?_

"Okay, I think I can manage," Sirius said, all human again. He summoned his leg brace, gave it a distasteful look, and put it back on. Peter tried to shrink back behind James, to avoid the searching look Sirius was giving him.

"Remind me to groom you," James told him, giving Peter an odd sideways glance. "You look like you got the dry rot."

Sirius snorted without humour.

"I'd rather the dry rot than this. Let's go, then. I wasn't joking about wanting to be there before moonset sometime."

.

* * *

 

.

They met at a different location each time. Today, Betty and Coop had offered up their suite, had returned to the French Riviera with Albus the instant the boys were safely in school.

It helped Betty to distract herself from the heartache she felt over leaving them there at all.

"I wish we could've kept them just a few days longer," she told Coop, who wrapped his arms around her. "I'm being ridiculous, aren't I?"

"No," he told her. "I already miss them too."

"We'll visit," Betty decided. "Take them home on Sundays. _Something_." Coop smiled at her, held her a little closer.

"They'll be fine, Betty," Albus assured her. After last night, Betty had her doubts about a lot of things — but not about this. They needed them around, Sirius most of all. But James wasn't as all right as he'd like them to believe, and she just couldn't fathom not being around to help them get better once and for all.

They cleared the dishes with half-finished desserts from the table, set it anew as they waited for the rest of their Order to arrive.

They did, in twos and threes. Some were announced by French elves with outrageous accents, wearing all sorts of disguises and using fake names, others used the fireplace, others yet apparated onto the terrace. One — Moody — landed in the pool. And everyone was happily noshing on the leftovers of their banquet within a handful of minutes.

The news wasn't as grim as other times.

Albus told them about the inquiry against Fudge and Crouch, the Wizengamot's decision to reduce Dementor activity during trials, and the public outcry against Walburga Black that had been unleashed after the Prophet published an in-depth article on the botched trial against Sirius.

Better yet, the Hogwarts raid had turned out ten high-profile arrests, five first-time offenders, all of whom claimed Imperius, as usual— so Alastor told them from the depths of the pile of towels he'd been covered in, cursing his new swiveling eye every time it popped out its socket. Tiberius Shacklebolt shared his new nickname amongst Aurors and Hit Wizards — Mad-Eye Moody.

They all laughed. It felt _good_ to laugh; there was precious little they could chuckle over of late.

"There's one thing, however," said Janus Dearborn. "I've been looking into the Muggle disappearances, and I noticed something else— there's an inordinate number of car accidents of late."

"What do you mean?" asked Alastor. "Muggles crash their vehicles all the time — it's as if they get them just for that purpose."

"There have been thirty in the past week alone," Dearborn said. "Twenty-two appear to have targeted parents of Muggleborn students. Just earlier, Ash and Daisy Evans were involved in a collision that nearly killed them both."

"Lily Evans's parents?" Minerva asked, aghast. "She's one of mine."

Janus nodded.

"The accident, so I heard from our Muggle-worthy Excuse Committee Liaison, was actually caused by an exploding sewer cap. They're calling it a gas leak, but the Dark Magic tests were positive."

"Merlin, are they all right?"

"They are hospitalised at present, I believe moving them to St. Mungo's would be safer…"

"Our Healers wouldn't tell anyone they're non-magical folk," Tiberius Shacklebolt agreed in his deep voice. "And they're reliable— we can't have just anyone patching us up."

"Make it happen," Alastor said. His eye jumped out of his face and into his cup of coffee, as if it were trying to get away from him. "Ah, blast—"

"Is there anything we can do to help? We do have about two-hundred Muggleborn students in the school right now."

"I will give you the list of names, Tiberius," Albus replied. "Can you spare anyone, Alastor?"

"About a hundred Aurors," growled Moody, fingers fishing around in his cup. "We'll get right to it."

"I will tell Ms. Evans and take her in the morning," said Minerva, getting to her feet. "Do let me know when her parents are settled in St. Mungo's."

.

* * *

 

.

James and Sirius fit quite easily under the cloak. Peter was in rat form on James' shoulder, so there was space enough for them to move about freely. And they needed it; it was positively slow going, so James congratulated himself on having picked a route that allowed them to arrive with minutes to spare even with Sirius' slow limp.

He'd even managed to steer clear of the Aurors patrolling the hallways and grounds, which he was sure was another major point scored. If Sirius even noticed they were around, he didn't give him the slightest indication — but he was focused on something else entirely.

When they reached the Whomping Willow, Poops was only just walking with Remus to the tree, her herb basket in one arm, another in Remus' hands. The official story was that Remus helped the Nurse gather herbs, or whatnot, to explain why they were sometimes out together in the grounds. It was a simple and boring enough explanation when moonrise, like today, happened early.

 _I'm telling you. Hospital farts._ Sirius didn't need to catch his breath to continue their ongoing argument, even though he was quite winded.

 _Maybe it was exactly that, Groucho McGrumpycakes,_ James countered offhandedly. _He was in the Hospital Wing all weekend, and he probably just farted. You know those are toxic._

 _I'm telling you, he_ didn't _. I broke my leg, not my nose,_ Sirius muttered in his head. James sighed audibly.

 _You're telling me_ Pete _smells of Dark Magic_. _Do revise that statement, then tell me again if you really mean it_.

 _Pete reeks of it. And of Snivellus_ , Sirius supplied morosely.

 _Pete._ Our _Pete._ James couldn't forget what Sirius said yesterday, that he didn't fully trust Peter, but this was ridiculous. _I'm telling_ you _, he probably just farted. It's_ Pete _, he'd have told us if anything remotely interesting happened to him over the weekend_.

The Marauders waited for the Nurse to freeze the tree, revealing the entrance to the tunnel. She looked around, then slipped some candy into Remus' basket and ushered him towards the opening.

"Moonset is at four A.M.," she was saying. "Do you want me to collect you then, or…"

"I can make my own way back in the morning, Madam Pomfrey. Thanks."

"Stay safe," the Nurse said, then they parted ways. Remus disappeared under the tree, and she made her way towards Hagrid's. She usually did, on nights like this, had a cuppa with him.

James tossed a pebble up and down in the air a few times as soon as she was out of sight, then lobbed it at the knot and the tree froze for the second time.

The rat gave a complimenting cheep.

Moments later, they were in the tunnel, and Wormtail activated the Willow again.

They made their slow progress along the tunnel. James had become too large an animal to fit in there with his antlers on, so he usually went in last with Wormtail. Sirius transformed long before they reached the exit, the clatter of his leg brace the only sound down here.

A minute later, there was a howl that made the tunnel shake and dirt rain on all of them. Wormtail squeaked and hurried to hide behind James. Padfoot scrambled up and out of the trapdoor with a glance at James that said, _wait up, I'll distract him_.

A moment later, there was a _crash_ , a _thump_ — and James scrambled out after Sirius, turning into a stag as he cleared the trapdoor, emerging from it to utter chaos.

It was hard to make out what was going on at first; they were a whirlwind of fur and fangs and claws and there was so much roaring and snarling and yipping, James didn't know if they were fighting again or—

Moony was thrown bodily into the couch, bounced off it and hurled himself at Padfoot again with a howl that was overjoyed rather than furious.

Prongs snorted, glanced at Wormtail to come on out.

Moony and Padfoot were _playing_ , tails wagging madly, wrestling each other like nothing was the matter— even without full use of his limbs, Pads was giving as good as he got, and James realised how much they'd all needed this. Moony and Padfoot probably most of all.

It didn't last; nothing really did, lately, and when Moony vanished to fetch the sheep plushie — it was hiding under the bed again — and managed to herd the bleating, fluffy thing downstairs, Pads looked like he was staying awake out of sheer stubbornness.

Wormtail amused them all by trying to ride the plush toy while Moony and Padfoot tried to hunt it, and Prongs made sure his best friend didn't keel over while he was at it and tried not to get his antlers caught in the chandelier.

In the end, it didn't matter that they didn't go outside tonight; just being together again was enough. More than enough.

They ended up curling up against each other on the rug by the empty fireplace, the most mismatched pack ever to exist; the dog was sandwiched between the wolf and the stag, the rat nestled on its neck.

It was the best sleep they'd all had in months.

.

* * *

.

"Mother wants me at home for Easter. Pawn to B4." Regulus' face was scrunched up in concentration.

"You there, over here," Sirius snapped his fingers at one of his chessmen, pointed him in the right direction. Regulus snorted at his methods, but the knight — an impossibly rude, exquisitely-carved knight— rode a perfect miniature charger to the appointed location and gave Regulus the finger.

It was Tuesday night, and it was also the first time they played chess since they'd seen each other — _really_ seen each other — almost three months ago. All Regulus had to say to the state his brother was in was, those three months hadn't been kind to him at all.

It made Sirius laugh, he claimed it was because of the party last night that had kept everyone but the Slytherins awake all night, but Regulus didn't think any Gryffindor party could possibly be _that_ hard on anyone. At least none of this had killed Sirius' eternally good mood, he mused, watching his eyes scanning the board, cogs grinding, thinking up strategies at a glance and dismissing them equally quickly.

This time, Regulus was adamant on winning.

"Tell her you're too busy with school," Sirius told him. "She never forces the issue over Easter. It's Christmas you'll need to look out for."

"I always spend Christmas at home. But I can't not go, cousin Cissy tells her _everything_." So he was complaining, but who else could he complain to if not Sirius? "And Vega is always watching too. And Phineas. Pawn to F4."

"Those slithery old so-and-so's." Sirius didn't sound surprised, but it still made Regulus smile. "Pawn to— no, not _you_ , was I even _looking_ at you?"

"Bugger off," yelled the pawn.

"It's you who's going to bugger off," Sirius said, while Regulus watched him in amusement. Trust Sirius to get a chess set that argued back and insulted everyone all the time. "Go on, move."

They watched the little pawn stomp over to the appointed square, then flop down in a world-class sulk.

"You could always say you're ill. I can give you a projectile vomiting potion, Pete whips those up for us all the time."

"She said it was important. Bishop to H5." Regulus watched his entirely boring Bishop stride across the board, where Sirius' chessmen jeered at it and threw what looked like tiny rocks— and were they mooning him? Really?

"She always says it's important," Sirius pointed out. "Remember Bonfire night a few years back? She had an ingrown _toenail_ and said she was dying so we all had to go see her."

Regulus smirked, "She just wanted you to massage her feet."

"Massaging her _feet_?" Sirius looked incredulous and disgusted at the thought. Regulus wasn't sure which emotion was stronger. "That's what she told you happened?"

"Well, what did you do instead?" he asked curiously.

"Pawn to A3."

The silence stretched; Regulus might only recently have caught on to what they really meant, but he was determined to get an answer this time. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen the aftermath of the Yule— Kreacher had unlocked Sirius' door for him, after all.

" _Sirius_ —"

"How's your Occlumency?" Sirius asked abruptly.

"It's alright, I should think. Why—"

" _Legilimens_." Sirius said softly.

Regulus wasn't in any way ready for it. Sirius' mind slammed into his full force, sifting through myriads of recollections so fast, it made him lightheaded. Then he retreated, shook his head, turned his attention momentarily to the board, like nothing was the matter.

Regulus begged to differ.

"Wh— Sirius, what the _hell_ is wrong with you?" he gasped in outrage.

"We'll have to improve it. You're easier to read than a bloody Martin Miggs."

"I wasn't expecting you to do that!" he snapped.

" _Always_ expect it's coming. You there, get going. Now stop."

Regulus glared at his brother, but he was wasting his time. Sirius was impervious to his protests at the best of times.

"Pawn to C3. She's _cross_. At _you_ , for what you said at the trial."

Sirius smirked. Gestured at one of his chessmen to take Regulus' pawn. While they watched the battle, Regulus went on.

"Why did you say those things?"

"Veritaserum, little brother. You know what it does."

"She won't understand. We've got to get you back in her good graces, before—"

"She kills me?" Sirius asked dryly. "Been there, done that."

"She's _heartbroken_ , Sirius," Regulus tried to explain. "She's been writing every day."

"Whoops." Sirius deadpanned. He didn't seem to think it such a terrible thing. Regulus, though, wished they could all just get along, like they never had.

"Can't you apologise? I'm sure she would—"

"Reg," Sirius said very clearly. "She didn't step on my toe. In fact, I'm pretty sure that is the only thing she didn't do. I don't want to have to see her ever again."

Regulus swallowed. He'd hoped to sway Sirius into returning, and he was aware that his fright was written all over his face. But he never had to hide it, not from Sirius.

"But—" He tried, yet again. Met a wall, again.

"I'm sorry, Reggie. I can't go back, not anymore."

" _Apologise_ , Sirius. I'm sure she'll forgive you."

"What am I supposed to apologise for, then?" Sirius demanded. "Let's hear it, Reggie. What did _I_ do to _her_?"

Sirius looked at him expectantly. Regulus was stumped.

"I… I…" He'd just assumed Sirius had done _something_. He always did, didn't he? But Sirius just continued to stare holes into him, his eyes reflecting the dancing flames of the candles.

"You… don't have a clue, do you?"

"Not being a proper Black?" Regulus ventured his nearest guess. Sirius looked down, but it wasn't with remorse. He was trying not to burst out laughing.

"She forgave you for being a Gryffindor, didn't she?" Regulus went on, undeterred.

"She really didn't." Was he lying now?

"She _said_ —"

"She lied, little brother," Sirius interrupted him, without a hint of doubt. "They _all_ do. The sooner you let that sink in, the better off you'll be."

"Except for you." Regulus felt a familiar bitterness surface.

"Except for me." Sirius confirmed. "Does that make you angry?"

"Yes."

"Good. Your move, Reggie."

"She disowned you already. Don't make it worse."

"I'm pretty certain I can't possibly make it any worse," was the blithe response. "They're Blacks, they don't feel like they're doing their job unless they disown someone at least every year."

"No. You don't understand," Regulus tried, yet again, to bring him to his senses. "Unless you come back… There will be a Burning on Easter Sunday." Sirius didn't look surprised. More like this was good news. Maybe he was more ill than Regulus had thought. Addled.

"I'll stock up on painkillers, then."

"How can you be so calm about it? Don't you _care_?"

Sirius shrugged, "There's nothing I can do about it, is there? So why waste my time fretting?"

"You _could_ beg for forgiveness," Regulus insisted. "She _would_ forgive you, I'll help and everything. They'd all leave you alone then."

"I'm sorry, Reg." Sirius had lost his nonchalance. He looked graver, more earnest than Regulus had ever seen him.

"Are you? Sorry?"

"For you, yes. Only you."

"You're not coming back." Sirius didn't answer. He didn't need to. Regulus bit his lip, a lump in his throat. He was sure Sirius would come back, this latest row would come to a shaky sort of truce, and he'd still have his brother. But now…It was finally sinking in.

Sirius wasn't giving Mother another chance. Whatever had happened, he wouldn't forgive it. Regulus had only bits and pieces to go on by — Sirius' trashed bedroom, for example — and he'd known this was worse than anything that had happened before, and who would he believe? Mother or brother?

Had he had the words, Regulus would have told Sirius how much he missed him. How much he needed him. What came out of his mouth was, "I can't even get the _Disillusionment Charm_ right."

"I'll help you," Sirius said, watching him closely.

"When?" Regulus swallowed back the lump in his throat, wiped irritably at his eyes.

"Tonight, after Astronomy. I'll be outside your pit of worms at one."

"Don't call it that. Will you teach me that water spell?" The urge to cry passed. Regulus focused on the good things that would come instead.

"Yeah, and Occlumency, and whatever else you need."

" _Promise_?"

" _Yes_." Sirius sounded harassed. "I just said so, didn't I? Now make your move so I can kick your arse."

.

* * *

 

.

Sirius was indeed waiting outside the Slytherin Common Room at one in the morning. Regulus found him leaning against a statue of Salazar Slytherin, reading a letter with a frown on his face.

"What's that?" Regulus had a scroll under his arm, his telescope in his hand. It wasn't unusual for Slytherins to randomly go stargazing in the middle of the night — the Bloody Baron even made their excuses sometimes, when they were caught out-of-bounds. Especially if their surname was in any way related to Black.

"Just a note from McGonagall. She wants to see me and James before class tomorrow, for a talk? I don't know." Sirius looked at him, saw his paraphernalia, and snorted. "You're doing the thing proper, aren't you?"

"I had to say something. That lot are a bunch of night owls. And Snape kept asking me questions."

Regulus was fairly sure he'd fooled everyone, but Sirius disillusioned them both anyway, pulled him into a niche.

"What—"

" _Shush_. You said Snivellus was hovering, yeah?"

"Yeah…"

"Wait for it."

Regulus watched the wall that opened to the Common Room— Snape strolled out a moment later. Listened hard. Frowned. Looked up and down the corridor, then hurried away and took a right turn at a jog.

Sirius raised his eyebrows, as they both shimmered back into view. _Told you so,_ his look said. Reg gaped. He hadn't expected that.

They stole quietly — and painfully slowly, Sirius was limping rather heavily — to the lakeshore under the school, where the boats were tethered. Sirius disillusioned one of the boats, cast Silencing Charms around it, then disillusioned the two of them once more.

It wasn't until they were floating out onto the Black Lake that Reg could finally breathe again.

"How is it you can do all that? It looks easy when you do it, but when I try it's anything but."

"Survival, I find, is a splendid motivator," Sirius answered wryly. Regulus snorted, but he couldn't find fault in his brother's reasoning.

"Maybe I'm just crap at spells."

"No," Sirius answered, as they floated out of the gate. To Regulus it was as they were both disembodied, more air than anything, like wisps of thought and sound rather than living things. "You're not crap at spells, Reggie. You just never had to use them for yourself."

"What do you mean? I use spells every day."

"Yeah, for _class_. To truly master anything, you must give it a purpose other than such a stupid thing as House Points and marks."

" _You_ have top marks!" Regulus protested.

"Despite my best efforts," Sirius replied with a chuckle. "I mean, look beyond that, Reg. When are you _ever_ asked to do anything for yourself? How can you possibly be good at spells when there's an elf at your beck and call whenever you snap your fingers, when that elf will do whatever you need done without so much as waving your wand?"

"You know about that?"

"'Course I do. I'm not blind. Or deaf. Anyway, I don't care if you have your personal servants, Reggie. But if you want to master Charms and Hexes and things, you need to stop thinking that you don't need them. You need to do stuff for yourself, use them, have fun with them."

"Like you with your pranks?"

"Yeah, I could use a prank war just about now. You might not enjoy detention, though."

"Why? You seem to."

"Manual labour."

Regulus grimaced.

"Then again," said Sirius cheerfully, "you could always ask Kreacher to do it for you." Regulus hadn't thought about that. He resolved to send Kreacher to do Sirius' detentions for him, too.

"Okay, so, here's the deal," Sirius said, as the boat glided soundlessly across into the lake. "You can _never_ be too careful. There's over a hundred perfectly capable witches and wizards in the Black family circle."

"I _know_ that."

"And ninety-nine at least, who want your position."

"But the Succession—" Regulus protested.

"Means turnips to them, Reg. You can't please them all, you can't focus on pleasing Mother, either. Being The Black means being alone in the crowd. Do you understand?" Regulus didn't, but he figured, since Sirius had been there for years, he might as well listen.

"Yes," he said anyway. It didn't fool his brother.

"No, you don't," Sirius sounded certain. "But you _will_ , and when you do, come and see me."

"You really won't go back?" Was he mad enough at Mother to give up his ring?

"No, Reggie. I'm sorry."

"You keep apologising." Sirius _never_ apologised for anything, and today he'd already apologised what, thrice?

"Because I mean it."

"If she'd asked you to step down…"

"Look Reg." Sirius sounded exasperated. "You probably — no, you _clearly_ have no idea. I stepped down five years ago. Then again four years ago. They wouldn't let me. I quit three years ago, before Father died. I bloody quit so much I can't fathom why they wouldn't let me. It was either their way or six feet under."

Reg swallowed.

"And now you're going to get saddled with it, that's why I'm sorry."

"Sirius—" Suddenly Regulus understood why he was so frightened. He didn't want to do this without his brother. He'd rather have Sirius back than be The Black.

"If I can. I _will_ be there for you. Whenever I can."

"What will you do?"

"The Potters let me crash at their place. I'll probably get a job after, fancy that, eh?"

"A _job_?" The word tasted badly in Regulus' mouth.

"That will be a first for any Black," Sirius sounded like he was looking forward to it.

"Father had a job, didn't he?"

"Yeah, looking down on everyone else," Sirius chuckled. "That wasn't a job, that's just who he _was_." They both laughed. "I mean, a proper job."

"Doing _what_?"

"I might land a spot testing racing brooms for the Nimbus Company in the Summer."

"But… That's a menial task." He wasn't serious, was he?

"It will be ever so _refreshing_." Sirius chortled, but then he fell silent for a moment. "Listen, Reg. I wasn't joking. They all want your position."

"But— It's my birthright. It's _yours_ , Sirius. Don't give it up."

"And if they don't get your spot," Sirius went on, as if Regulus hadn't spoken, "they'll make sure they don't want for anything in the meantime. They'll all want something from you, and you won't be able to please them all. You need to learn to think _ahead_."

"You never tried to please them, though."

"Actually, I did," was the surprising answer. "I tried my best, for a long time. Too long. I just never managed."

"That's why you gave up?"

"Sort of, yeah. Father was just… stricter, as you said. No." Sirius heaved a sigh, then revised his words. "No. Actually, he was insane. Mother—"

"Let's don't start," Regulus moaned.

 _"_ _Mother_ ," Sirius said forcefully, " _is_ insane. She'll make you go guano, too, if she can. _Think ahead_ , Reg. _Always_. You're the cunning one, always think, what's the worst that can happen? Then act as if it would happen, so it never will."

"Worst, like…?"

"They poison your drink. Worst like, they send you to Lord Thingy. Worst like, absolute worst."

"He already reached out," Regulus confessed.

" _What_?!" Sirius clearly had not expected this. The boat gave a jolt, and suddenly they were both visible, the boat's oars could be heard splashing.

"Well, not _him,_ exactly. But… Snape."

" _Snivellus_?" Sirius' eyes were flashing.

"Yeah… he… offered me a spot."

"What did you say?"

"I said I'd think about it. I didn't know what to do."

Sirius fell silent. The Giant Squid came over to say hello, and he absently patted its tentacles. He was very quiet until the boat's keel scraped against soft sand. He helped Reg out of the boat. Reconstructed the boulders that had been there a week ago, to shield them from view.

All the while he looked… lost. Worried. 

Reg had never seen him worried before. And it worried him too. With Sirius there, he could admit he was afraid.

"I'll figure it out, Reggie," Sirius told him a while later. "I'll do something about it. I promise."

"What can you do?"

"All I _can_ do, all _anyone_ can do, is delay it. You know that, don't you?"

Regulus swallowed.

"He'll ask you sometime. Directly. What you say then, is entirely up to you."

"If I say no…"

Sirius winced. Swallowed.

"You might not be able to." It sounded as if every word hurt him. "But he might not ask. You're not just _anyone_ , you're practically The Black now, you will be, after Easter. That's got to count for _something_. He never asked Father, either. Or Mother. He might not dare cross you."

Regulus scuffed the sand with his boot.

"He wanted _you_. He still does."

"He didn't know what he wanted. And you're not me, thank the gods. You're a Slytherin, Seeker and future captain of your team, I'm sure they'll make you Prefect and Head Boy and all the nonce, too. You've got a _future_ , you're The Black. You might not need to join up." He was thinking aloud, but Regulus found it comforting all the same.

"What will you do?"

"First," Sirius smiled thinly. "We get you ready for it. Then, if nothing else, I'll keep him distracted. That is something I _can_ actually do better than anyone. But before all that, I'll have me a word with _Snivellus_." He nodded to himself, threw an arm around Regulus' shoulders.

Regulus flinched, despite himself. Apparently Sirius had become quite fond of… _contact_ … during his absence.

It was… nice.

"Come, baby brother," he said next, cheerful tone back in place. "I'll teach you the ways of the water. Pay attention, now. You want to make sure it doesn't all splash on you, but whoever you're targeting, so first you'll need to focus…"

.

* * *

 

.

Dawn broke, in a glorious wave of reds and pinks. The first rays of the sun found them skipping stones. They were no longer on Sirius' island, the boat had been returned to the quay before first light. But neither wanted to go to bed, so they ended up under a beech tree on the grounds, skipping stones to see how far they would go. The Squid, whom Regulus had always thought feral, tossed them back. It never did when Regulus was out here, it had never even come out for him, before.

He realised, his brother, for all he was an outcast from his family, had created all sorts of bonds with other people, with beasts even, and he wondered why he couldn't just have done the same with his own blood.

He even had his own bloody tree, and he had his own island on the lake too, now, that was more than Regulus could ever have claimed to have.

For him, Hogwarts wasn't _home_. It was school, a place where he was supposed to learn to fend for himself, where he was supposed to learn to be better than others at everything, away from his Mother's protection and watchful eye. It was a training ground, a battlefield, a catwalk where he was constantly in the need to impress others. Well, that was what the school had become for him, since Christmas.

Not so for Sirius. He was at home here, more than Regulus had ever seen him. He knew every nook and cranny of the old castle, had become a part of it, a living, breathing and indispensable extension of it. It was as though Hogwarts itself bent over backwards to accommodate Sirius' every need, from the friendly Squid to the waving sirens, to the Forest which didn't feel ominous at all if Sirius was by his side.

Even the school ghosts helped look out for Filch when he was out after curfew, the Baron raised his plumed hat at him, as though he didn't care that he was a Blood-Traitor.

He hadn't wasted an ounce of his time here, Regulus saw that too. While he buried himself in books, Sirius didn't bother; he knew it all, and so did Regulus, so he wondered now why he revised at all. While he slept, Sirius was out exploring. While he was drowning in family politics, Sirius had long ago used his one power as the Black and sent them all packing. Regulus vaguely recalled his Succession, but it was mostly a blur. All he remembered was some of the accidents that had happened back then.

Now he sensed, those hadn't been accidents at all.

Why didn't he ever question it, he wondered.

He couldn't but admire Sirius' courage, couldn't but reproach him for leaving him alone in what seemed a mire full of traps he couldn't hope to spring on his own.

Sirius bent over to pick up a stone, and Regulus found himself observing him more closely. Sirius had changed, and he could see the familiar scar on the back of his head — it used to be small and round, but now he could follow it in a spider's web as it covered the entire right side of his scalp. There were others, too. The paper had described only the barest minimum, but Regulus wasn't stupid. He was curious, about the limp, the strange leather guard he wore that flashed purples and blues and greens he couldn't understand. He wanted to know everything.

"They lie to me," he said.

"That they do," Sirius agreed.

"But not you."

"Not I."

"Will you tell me? What they did?"

"No. Not today. Someday, maybe. If you need to know. You don't right now."

"Do you think they'll ever do the same? To me?" Regulus voiced his biggest fear.

"Gods, I hope they don't. But if they start… if it feels like they might." Sirius swallowed hard. "Don't play along. Run, Reg. Run as fast and as far as you can. And call me. Or James. Nobody else."

"That blood-traitor."

"Yes. That blood-traitor will help you where nobody else will."

"Why? He doesn't even like me."

"Because you're my brother. Because you can trust him."

"Because Voldemort fears him? That's what you said, right? I read it in the paper."

Sirius shrugged. His expression was tight for a moment. The next he shook it off, tossed a stone at the water.

"Why _does_ he fear James?"

"Because he's James Potter, and he might not know it yet, but he's the greatest wizard of the age."

"I thought that was Dumbledore."

Sirius laughed, as though Regulus had just said something hilarious. It rang across the Lake, and it was to Regulus, as though the Lake laughed with him. As though the entire world did.

He couldn't understand it, but he joined in.

.

* * *

 

.

TBC. As always, your comments and feedback are much appreciated and help me attempt to do better — and if you want to send them in other languages, go for it-- I gots the Google to help me decypher most stuff!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Remus has a miniature crisis, Lily visits a wizarding hospital, McGonagall has no choice but to give the Talk to her most dreaded students, and then stuff happens. And some other stuff. And more stuff, mostly to do with Voldemort and my favourite crazy Russian.


	29. Part Twenty-Nine: Quidditch Through the Ages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Googles tries — and fails — to get an extended leave, and has to give our favourite Marauders the Talk. Yes, THE Talk. This is the chapter with the Talk. The TaLk will be had in this chapter. Also, James has been looking for something to keep Sirius busy with. As it turns out, Remus has a thing or three to say about the particular something of choice. The Order are suspicious, Coop is a kickass dad. Remus begins to doubt his sanity and his nose, Sirius doubts neither but is conflicted, Nina is so guilty, Peter is brewing stuff like mad, and the Potters get a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer-In-A-Haiku: Luurve is in the air,  
> The almond trees release their fragrance,  
> I don't own HP.

 

* * *

**Part Twenty-Nine: Quidditch Through the Ages**

**Or**

**Are Morals Overrated? Anyone?**

* * *

.

Remus went to breakfast with James to find Sirius already there, his customary full English in front of him, pile of sausages and all. He was busy buttering some toast, even hunted down the marmalade before so much as acknowledging their presence.

"We missed you this morning," James told him for a greeting, already ladling porridge into a bowl. From his tone, it was impossible to tell he spent half the night fretting about Sirius's whereabouts, and Remus bit back a snort.

"I helped Reg with his spellwork," Sirius answered, then gave them a smirk. "You're not my only brother, you know."

"But I'm your _favourite_ brother," James retorted with utter certainty, snatching Sirius's perfectly-prepared piece of toast from his hands. "As a matter of course."

"Of course." Sirius sighed, reached for another slice to start the process all over. Remus took the chance to snatch a sausage from Sirius's plate and bit into it with a grin when he got that pointed look he'd missed so much.

"What will you two do today?" he wanted to know, gave Marlene a wave as she went to her usual spot on the Ravenclaw table at a slow sort of shuffle.

"We have to see Googles," said Sirius, piling more sausages on his plate. "Not sure what for."

"Oh, yeah," James replied reminiscently, "apparently, she wants "to talk"."

"Maybe she wants to settle the detentions we didn't do before end of term?" Sirius wondered. "That would explain the time we got off classes. It would barely be enough."

"I still owe her painting the pitch," James mused. "But it might be something else, you're not well enough to go polishing the Trophy Room or anything yet."

"What, the entire _pitch_?" Remus threw in. "That's a lot of paint."

" _That_ 's something I'd like to see," Sirius commented, and James just grinned and shook his head.

"With your luck, you'll even get to help me," he quipped, but then he trailed off, looking towards the double doors. "Have either of you seen Evans today?"

"Wha?" Remus suddenly found himself scanning the Great Hall too. Sirius just shrugged and shook his head, now adding the finishing touches to his plate..

"I saw her on Monday, during the party," said James. "Her parents were in this big accident on Sunday. She's been going to St. Mungo's every day— but I haven't seen her today. Not last night, either."

Remus's blood suddenly started to run cold.

" _What_?!"

"You didn't hear?" James asked in surprise.

"Even I heard," Sirius supplied, cutting his toast into triangles and arranging them on the bread plate. It looked so good, Remus was tempted to snatch it all away from him despite the alarming news he was hearing.

"She said they'll be okay, but they were badly hurt and she was all shaken up. Apparently— and get this: a deer rammed their car and made them drive into a ditch, and then there was an explosion of some sort."

"Sounds like an omen," said Sirius. Now everything was ready, his focus was solely on inhaling his breakfast before anyone else got the idea to snatch it away from him. "Don't let her see you with your tail on, she'd like you even less."

"She already _likes_ me," James pointed out. "She hasn't hexed me since last term, so there."

"You haven't been around enough for her to," Sirius gave James a grin. "Just wait for it, Prongs, it'll soon be business as usual."

"Hey— what do _you_ mean by omen, anyway?"

"He's a death omen," Peter pointed out, sitting down next to Remus and making the three of them laugh.

"That would be brilliant," said Sirius, clearly already making a mental list of people he'd omenise to death if he could. Having feared a repetition of Third Year and discussed Sirius at length with James upon arrival, Remus was relieved that both his friends seemed to be in a good mood. However, what they were talking about was anything but cheering. He turned and looked over to where Marlene was sitting, giving him a pointed look.

 _I didn't know!_ he mouthed at her, even as Nina came in, made a beeline towards Sirius, like she did every morning. Marlene's look turned sour. It wasn't as obvious as it would have otherwise have been; about half the girls in the Great Hall (and a handful of lads) were mirroring her expression precisely.

"Morning, boys," Nina said cheerfully, sitting down a few spots down from Marlene, as close to Sirius as the benches would allow. Sirius's face lit up, his eyes fairly dancing with joy at the sight of her. It made alarm rise in Remus's mind, brought Marlene's words from a few days prior back with a vengeance. Something about her hiding in Sirius's dreams.

Suddenly, his misgivings were back full force.

"We were just talking about Lily Evans," Remus heard himself say for a greeting. "Did you know her parents were in a terrible accident?"

He wasn't imagining it — Nina looked apprehensive all of a sudden.

"I heard," she said, and _damn_ , now she looked suspiciously… shifty. "But they're in St. Mungo's, aren't they?" Nina asked, turning to butter herself some toast. Remus figured it was so she could avoid meeting their eyes. "Lily told me last night, they were out of danger."

"Lily came back last night?" James asked keenly. Nina shrugged, but she was avoiding Remus's eyes, there was no mistake about _that_.

"She said she'd help them get settled at home," Nina replied.

"So, what happened?" Sirius asked, stuffing a sausage in his mouth.

"They were driving to their local Tesco," Nina informed him. "That's like a Muggle market," she added, when James gave her a clueless look. "And a deer sent them off the road just before there was an explosion in the sewers."

"Maybe it was a _good_ omen, then," Sirius said to James, but his light tone didn't extend to his eyes. "Do you think it was an accident, though?" he wondered. "What if the deer actually saved them?"

Nina laughed.

"How many deer do you know would ram a car?" she asked, and Sirius grinned at her.

"Not many," he admitted, and Remus sent a sideways glance at James, who was digging into his porridge, his ears red. "Okay, let's chalk it up to luck, then," Sirius decided lightly.

Remus's eyes found Marlene's once more. She gave him a tight nod, then jerked her head towards the double doors.

"I forgot something in the Common Room," Remus told his friends, getting up. "I'll see you in class, Pete, and you two— try not to get a detention before lunch."

"Very funny," Sirius stated with a mock-annoyed look. Remus forced out a laugh, then walked outside as fast as he dared without actually running. When he turned to make sure none of his friends had suddenly decided to come with him, he saw all three of them laughing and joking with Nina… and Marlene approaching him with entirely too much purpose.

.

* * *

.

"Do you really think it's over detentions?" James asked Sirius musingly, as they were making their painfully slow way along the third-floor corridor that would take them to their Head of House's office.

Next to him, Sirius was breathing heavily. It was time for a break, and after six flights of stairs and half a mile of corridors and hallways, he couldn't walk and speak at the same time. Predictably, he came to a halt and leaned against the cold stone wall.

"I don't know," he answered, closing his eyes. "But it better be important, Prongs. I _swear_ , I'll chase her up a bloody tree if it's over something stupid, like homework."

"Somehow I don't think she'll care whether _you_ think it's stupid," James replied, leaning against the wall and regarding his new brother patiently.

"Her office is so bloody far away," was the rejoinder. "Why does it never seem so far away, Prongs?"

"You're just out of shape," said James bracingly. To him, it was evident why they had gotten some time off classes, but he didn't want to risk irritating Sirius more by pointing it out. He tired easily lately, and he didn't have to be a genius to know Sirius hadn't had a moment's rest since he left Blackpool over a week ago, and the exhausting events from the battles to the disastrous weekend were catching up with him.

The Moon on Sunday was arguably the only night Sirius had managed to actually sleep without a potion; Monday's party had been a partial success at best, and it had meant a very late night for them all. And last night— well, James was pretty sure Sirius hadn't slept a wink since the Moon. He was also pretty sure he'd get his head bitten off if he voiced these reasons aloud.

"We'll get you sorted before the game against Ravenclaw," he said instead, trying to sound encouraging. In his mind, he called it the game, but it implied so much more that still needed to be done. It wasn't just getting Sirius well enough to fly his new broomstick, after all. It meant getting Sirius focused on the good things, helping him stop seeing Death Eaters in every shadow, keeping him from brooding and having nightmares… it had nothing to do with Bludgers and tactics.

"Yeah, the _game_ ," Sirius scoffed bitterly, as though he could read James's mind. "You'd best focus on getting that lousy new Beater of yours sorted instead."

"Come off it, you heard what Dad said. He'll figure something out. You'll be whacking away at Marlene's little brother before you know it."

"What if he _doesn't_?" Sirius asked, voicing the kind of depressing thought James had hoped to distract him from. "You should come up with an alternative, just in case."

"We'll call him later, all right?" James retorted. "I'm sure he's already sorting it out. But," he added glibly, deciding it was time to change the subject, "I'd _love_ to see you chase her up a tree. At your top speed, it would be quite the achievement."

"Har har har," Sirius muttered, but the corners of his mouth were twitching.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, at last," made them both whip around. McGonagall was standing by her open door, and it was to James as if she'd knotted her bun extra tight this morning. "Hurry along now, we do not have all day."

"What crawled up her arse?" James muttered to Sirius, as they reached their Head of House, who was giving them a very disapproving look.

"Probably a stick," Sirius answered under his breath, but he did pick up the pace and followed James inside.

"Help yourselves," said McGonagall, and James gave the room a confused look. On her desk, rather than the customary tin of frosted ginger newts…

"That's… a lot of pastries," Sirius pointed out. James shrugged, but it _was_ odd. There were chocolate newts, strawberry frosted newts, vanilla newts… lemon ones. Newts were her way of lulling them into a false sense of security when dishing out punishments. If there were this many…

"What do you think we did this time?" he asked in a low voice, and now it was Sirius's turn to shrug.

"We haven't been back long enough to do anything." Sirius was running through a detailed tally of his and James infractions before December in utter confusion, just in case.

"Yeah, and it's not like you can do much, either," James smirked.

"Shut up."

The furniture was moved around as well; there was a chalkboard, for one; a projector, and for some reason, an open crate of Quidditch balls. The chairs they usually occupied (for tellings-off and other such important meetings), were turned the other way so they faced in the same direction as Googles's — all of which made James insanely curious.

"Glad as I am to see you both back after your ordeals," McGonagall told them stiffly, "I asked you here today for a very particular purpose." She gestured at the crate of balls, then waved at them to take a seat.

"Look, even she wants to discuss your strategies for the Ravenclaw game," Sirius commented with a smirk, but now it was clear why they were called in, the last shred of his good mood evaporated; he flopped down on his usual chair, slid into the most comfortable position he could find and sullenly stretched his bum leg out as far as it would go.

James sat down too, inwardly groaning; he had hoped to keep Sirius in a good mood, but it already looked like a lost cause. He didn't want to have to admit to Googles that Sirius wasn't up to playing yet, he definitely _didn't_ want to discuss his reserve Beater's dreadful lack of skill with Sirius present, and he was absolutely against discussing strategy with his Head of House right now.

This wasn't something he'd shy away from, usually, and Sirius _did_ suggest using Clearwater as Beater— but he'd still be disappointed when Googles decided to bench him, or worse, kick him off the team.

"You are not wrong, Mr. Black," said McGonagall, and was her voice _trembling_? Sirius didn't miss it either; he was giving her the same curious look as James. "Except, today, we will talk about Quidditch strategy of… another kind. These," she gestured at the crate of balls and the props she'd brought, "are just to help you two relate."

She was _definitely_ nervous, and her choice of words was odd. James didn't think she'd ever seen McGonagall _nervous_.

"What kind of Quidditch strategy?" James asked. "Defence? Offence…?"

"Both," she said promptly, going to stand next to the chalkboard. "And neither. Today, and at your — both of your — parents' request…" She trailed off, then steeled herself to add, "Today, we shall have the talk."

… _Whatshesay?_ Sirius's voice erupted in James's head, just as he was trying to choke back a startled laugh.

 _She said, the talk, you heard her._ A glance told him Sirius was definitely looking at Googles now, a slow grin spreading on his face. She, though, looked like someone had just sprinkled her with water, and of course, this was too good an opportunity to let slip.

"What will we talk about, Professor?" they chorused innocently.

"As I said, _the talk_ ," Googles replied dryly. "We shall… speak about… about, about… _intercourse_. But, to make it more relatable, we shall call it "Quidditch" for the duration of this session."

Sirius was snickering in his head, James's brain had jammed at the word "intercourse", and was half relieved it wouldn't be _that_ awkward talk after all; _this_ was definitely better than shattering Sirius's hopes of Quidditch for the rest of the season. And now he couldn't even think about it without imagining Evans naked.

" _Inter_ — Intercourse?" Sirius asked, his voice squeaking a little. He for one, certainly _wasn't_ regretting having come all the way here anymore. Neither was James. He, too, grinned toothily at their Head of House.

McGonagall's lips were a thin line. Oh, this was going to be _good_.

" _Yes_ , Mr. Black. And I shall expect the two of you to treat the topic with as much maturity as you can—"

Sirius burst out laughing. So did James, although his ears suddenly felt very warm.

"… muster," McGonagall finished with a long-suffering sigh.

"What kind of _intercourse_ are we talking about, Professor?" James enquired curiously, swallowing back another wave of laughter. Next to him, Sirius gave him an admiring look. Maybe because he had managed to keep the squeak out of his voice.

"Yes," Sirius chortled. "There are _many_ kinds of intercourse, aren't there?"

"Heaps," James told him.

"Will we call those _Quidditch_ as well?"

"We will be talking about _sexual intercourse_ , Mr. Black, stop being so childish. You too, Mr. Potter," said McGonagall sternly. "This is no laughing matter, and I expect you both to act your age in this regard."

 _Aren't we, though?_ James asked Sirius, but his newest brother was a. incapable of blocking out his thoughts from James, and b. imagining Nina… oh _gods_. James decided to focus on his own object of interest instead.

"Well, it makes sense," Sirius said evenly, swallowing back another bark of a laugh while James tried to rearrange his expression into at least a passable poker face. "It's all about scoring too, isn't it?"

 _Sod it_ , James thought, and burst out laughing.

.

* * *

.

Their first class was with Ravenclaw, which meant their plan would be put into action right away.

Only, Remus didn't think it was much of a plan at all — they had already followed Nina's every move all weekend, Marlene had already gone through her things with no luck, and even she had to admit that a gut feeling and the partial conversation they had overheard wasn't much to go on by. But they still would try to find some proof, and this time, they would have it word for word.

The Recording Shell weighed heavily in his pocket as he sat down behind Nina for Charms, his eyes scanning every inch of her he could see; there was nothing suspicious about her, not even a hint.

As Flitwick started on a lecture on Warding and Shielding Charms, Remus summoned Nina's book bag as unobtrusively as possible, while Marlene made a point to keep everyone's attention focused on her by asking Flitwick about the Fidelius Charm. There were quills, a roast beef sandwich, and a compact— nothing out of the ordinary. No notebooks titled, 'Nina McAlpin's Plan for World Domination'.

Until he opened the compact. Instead of his reflection, the mirror showed… fog. This explained how Nina had managed to speak to someone without using a fireplace, then. He had a similar mirror in his pocket, after all.

Resolving to ask James about their Two-Way Mirrors and how they'd come to have them, Remus put the bag back and shrugged at Marlene's enquiring look from across the classroom.

After Charms, he promised Marlene he'd tell her later and hurried to his next class — Potions with the Slytherins — deciding he'd talk to James before he did anything else.

Only… at lunch, James and Sirius were nowhere to be found, and Nina left the Great Hall after a hurried bite or two — so Remus had no choice but let Marlene drag him after her.

This time, they wouldn't have found Nina at all if it weren't for his sharp hearing. She was behind a tapestry of dancing elephants in the Second Floor. Remus pressed his ear against it, but he could only barely make out what was being said.

"… How is Elven… Do we really have to call him that?"

"Mr. Dork works too. He's still a bit dazed," answered a voice Remus recognised instantly as Will. "It was all… you know. Very spur-of-the-moment. We nearly had them, Nina, we were _this_ close."

"Any news on them?"

"The missus went to St. Mungo's earlier, we're waiting for her to come back."

"St. Mungo's? What is she _thinking_?"

"Just to have a mosey around," Will answered. "I hope she hurries up, we've got loads to do and Dorky is… eh, he's useless."

"Did you find anything out about…?"

"He's indeed living in Hogsmeade. He'll try to get into the school soon."

"But that's impossible, right?"

"Nothing is impossible," Will answered with certainty.

"What are they saying?" Marlene asked just then, and Remus missed what they were saying. He shushed her.

"… Bristol later."

"Careful, yeah?" Nina's voice sounded choked up. "I've got to go."

.

* * *

.

Meanwhile, in McGonagall's office, things had taken a sharp turn into the downright weird. Sirius stared at his Head of House, completely perplexed.

 _Googles has a very_ _ **strange**_ _approach to sex_. And he was finding it very hard to believe he just thought that sentence at all.

But… _Quidditch? Really?_ he mused in the one corner of his mind that wasn't being taken up by a very vivid daydream of Nina, which was sadly marred with random flashes of a naked Evans, or at least, the way James imagined she looked — Sirius was pretty sure that she _didn't_ commonly roll around in a pile of hay and dried alfalfa, and he would rather not know about _that_ — and it was just a _slight_ distracting from the completely _weird_ , very _hands-on_ experience their Head of House was providing to explain the baby dance.

So far, Googles had told them about how important it was not to play Quidditch just with anyone, how much responsibility it really was, and that it should be based on love, not just their — admittedly rampant — teenage hormones.

She'd tossed them a Quaffle, let loose the Bludgers— which thankfully James caught with a spell before they smashed up the room completely— and even referred to the Snitch as the "golden Snitch of love" of all things, to exemplify that sex was _not_ all about scoring, that there were fouls and penalties to be had, and that the real goal was to catch the Snitch, which — of course — James was now playing with all smug like, plucking it out of the air and releasing it over and over and bloody _over_ again and driving him to distraction, as though having caught the thing meant he's going to _score_ first.

Amusing as this was, Sirius didn't really think he'd need to catch a bloody flying ball to score _anything_ ; never has.

"Alright, stop it with the Snitch and put it back," Googles said next, darkening the room with a flick of her wand and making a square of light appear from the projector with another.

 _Shadow figures, now? She's lost it,_ Sirius mentally told James, who was now busy pocketing the Snitch without Googles noticing. He could still see her, looking almost pained as she perused a list on a sheaf of parchment. If what came next made her look this constipated, though… it already promised to be even better.

"We shall now talk about—"

" _Tactics_?" James asked hopefully. Now that snicker was fighting its way out of Sirius's throat. _Merlin's saggy balls_.

"I should think," Sirius added, trying to keep from laughing, "gameplay would be important too, mate."

"Gameplay, absolutely," James agreed enthusiastically. "But what about _fore_ play?" he asked their Head of House, whose lips were pressed together so hard, her mouth was threatening to disappear. "Is that _Quidditch_ too?"

"Now I'm getting confused. Wouldn't foreplay be more of a… pre-game… warm-up type thing? You know, like when we toss the _Quaffle_ around so we won't pull any muscles."

Inside his skull, there was a teeny tiny Sirius rolling all over his brain with laughter, while outwardly he was trying not to snicker at Googles' choice of terminology — because every time they laughed out, she stopped bringing the funnies to tell them off.

"Before we get to any of _that_ ," Googles said sternly, "there is something more important to take into account."

"Mounting the broomstick!" James exclaimed.

"Dude, are you dim? _We_ are the broomstick," Sirius argued, unable to help himself. James roared with laughter at that, and he couldn't help but join in.

"Oh, stop acting so juvenile," McGonagall snapped. Sirius grinned at her. Next to him, James was sniggering to himself like a nutter.

 _She's the one trying to explain with innuendo, and now we're immature?_ Sirius asked.

"I will be showing you pictures," Googles warned next. That shut them up; they both perked up as one.

_Pictures!_

Please _let them move._

"Oh, don't get your hopes up," came next. "It's just a basic sketch. However, I will demand at least _some_ semblance of maturity from the both of you, unless you want to end this session and spend the rest of the week whitewashing the Pitch."

_Oh, Merlin._

_The pitch!_ James exclaimed hysterically in his head. Sirius choked up.

"We will begin with a lesson on appreciating the body."

What showed up on the square of light on the wall, though… Sirius felt like he'd explode all of a sudden. He bit down on his fist to keep from laughing out loud, and one chair over, James was shaking with suppressed laughter as well.

There was a stick figure on the wall— with all the bits and everything — and the thing was _labelled_ , for crying out loud. With Quidditch-related names.

"That's a… very nice drawing, Googles. Did you make it yourself?" Sirius choked out, watching the stick female flaunting all her bits and bobs at them. "So," he added, trying to sound matter-of-fact and failing, "that's the opposing team? Or is it… the Pitch?" He couldn't help it, he was cracking up so hard he was running out of air.

"I see the goal hoops right there," James pitched in.

"No, those are the Quaffles," Sirius corrected.

"Potter, Black," Googles said clearly, in a very forced, very measured tone, "If this the reaction one can expect from you upon seeing a female, I think it is safe to say that this talk is unnecessary. You shall never need worry about Quidditch. You may leave now."

"If _that_ were a real female," Sirius chortled, adamantly refusing to leave for once, "I'd agree with you, Professor."

"Maybe a talk about appreciating bodies wouldn't go amiss for you either," James threw in, which only made Sirius laugh harder.

"I happen to have a very deep appreciation for bodies—" Googles shot back, cut herself off, and Sirius could hear the groan over their raucous laughter. He was wheezing for breath now.

"And I also know how to address the matter in a very _respectful_ manner. As the two of you are clearly incapable of doing that, there is no point in furthering this discussion. If this is how you act around the opposite sex, I can't imagine how any of this would ever be of any use to you."

"Allow me to disagree, I think it will be very useful," Sirius responded, avoiding looking at the picture for fear he'd crack up helplessly again. "If we ever land in the stick figure dimension."

"Wonder how we'd look there."

"Me? Tripod." Sirius muttered as low as he dared, and James was now risking not only getting tossed out now, but falling off his chair. "You? Like that drawing, just without Quaffles."

"Thank you for your input, Mr. Black," McGonagall retaliated at last. "Much as you seem to be certain of your own endowments, there is no need for you to exaggerate."

"Quite the contrary," Sirius grinned. In _this_ regard at least, there had never been _any_ complaints. "Just keeping it honest, Professor."

"As I was saying," McGonagall ploughed bravely on, "appreciating a body begins with having _respect_ for it, and the one to whom it belongs to."

 _She's going through with it?!_ Sirius was astounded. Still very much amused, but astounded all the same.

 _She's really adamant,_ James agreed.

"It should _never_ be regarded as a source of entertainment, as it was in this case. Whoever your love interest might be, a display such as this would only result in you being evicted from the game altogether..."

_Even if it is, in fact, very entertaining to regard..._

_Hmm, no kidding._ They both fell silent, each immersed in their own favourite pastime. McGonagall didn't fail to notice. She heaved a sigh.

"You're imagining them naked, aren't you?"

"Sorry," James muttered, before he could help himself. Sirius snorted.

"While this is… normal," McGonagall resumed dryly, "You should keep your fantasies to yourselves. The female body should never be treated with anything other than reverence, and by reverence I don't mean jeering, cat-calling, or leering, do you understand _that_?"

 _Should we grovel, then?_ James wondered.

_I wouldn't mind grovelling…_

_You know? Me either._

"If either of you wishes to hope to establish anything _resembling_ a relationship with your love interest, it is a very important step to be aware of any and all boundaries," McGonagall said next.

_She's talking about Evans and Hogwarts, a History, mate. Look alive!_

_Oh shut up. She_ talks _to me now. Hasn't whacked me once all term, did I tell you?_

_Only about a million times._

"It is even more important is that you do not cross whichever boundaries your love interest may set, unless you would like to be on the receiving end of a penalty."

"You mean, fouls?" James asked keenly.

_Do we get penalty shots, though?_

_Shut up, Pads, don't make me laugh— she'll toss us out!_

_Ooh, someone's paying attention._

_This could be useful!_

_Yeah, because Evans will actually_ let _you get that close in the waking world._

_She will, shut up._

"Precisely, Mr. Potter," and was McGonagall _amused_?

No. Fucking. Way.

"Appreciating your partner, for not only their body, but for their other assets as well, is also important in any relationship."

"Yeah, there's _loads_ more to appreciate," Sirius agreed, staring dreamily at the darkened ceiling beams. Nina _did_ have many interesting… assets, which he could appreciate the hell out of all day long. He wondered if she'd like to give him a scratch behind the ears. Or a belly rub. Oh, gods, now _that_ would be—

"But it helps if they're gorgeous," James supplied.

"Choosing a partner by basing your interests on outward appearances only will almost always end in disappointment later on."

"But it's not entirely true," Sirius replied. "Choosing a partner basing yourself on the _lack_ of outward appearances might result in revulsion forever after, right?"

"You'd be very nearsighted if you just went for appearances," was the answer.

"He's the nearsighted one, not me," Sirius argued. "Well, he's more blind, to be honest."

_I'm nearsighted, not blind!_

_Pimply…_

_Shut up! SHUT UP! LALALALA I CAN'T HEAR YOU!_

_Patsy._

_CAN'T HEAR A THING!_

_You kissed her_ zits _._

 _I was drunk! It was_ one _time!_

_Love is blind, Prongs, and so are you._

" _Gah_ ," James muttered. Sirius snickered evilly.

"It isn't just about _Quidditch_ , after all," Googles' tone was crisp. "It takes much more than that to build a healthy relationship, and this is what we'll focus on next."

"You mean snogging," Sirius supplied, and wouldn't _that_ be brilliant? Come to think of it, he'd never gone this long without a snog since Third Year. And would Nina want to base their relationship on that alone? He wouldn't mind one whit.

"Yes, Mr. Black, snogging is, in fact, part of a _relationship_ ," Googles said mockingly, as though he'd totally missed the point. She sounded like she was _this_ close to strangling him now, but she had — amazingly — neither tossed them out, nor made them whitewash the Pitch, nor taken points yet. "But that also is not enough to keep a relationship going."

"'Course not, but it's very entertaining," he countered, grinning. " _Very_."

"It also is not the most important subject of this talk, shall we carry on?"

"By all means," Sirius flourished a hand at her, strangely satisfied that he'd made her cringe. He hadn't ever even entertained the notion he could get away with scandalising the heck out of his favourite professor, but gods… it was _liberating_. "Do carry on. It's very enlightening."

"Thank you," she said, in a tone that suggested she was anything but grateful. "I was talking about _respect_ for your partner. In addition to being appreciative of your 'team', it is also important to respect their feelings and thoughts. This might be news to you, but the decision to play _Quidditch_ should be made by _both_ , and before you begin your 'game', it is crucial to talk to your team about _their_ feelings on the matter."

_Huh?_

_Huh?_

"Would that be during the snog or before or wha?" Sirius asked. This was beginning to get complicated.

"It should never be discussed in the heat of the moment," was the final answer. "Doing so, or just assuming your team will want a game of _Quidditch_ just because _you_ fancy it, is a major display of lack of sportsmanship."

"What if they go all grabby first? Is it fair to assume _they_ want a shag?"

"Five points for language, Mr. Black," was the response.

"I wasn't taking the piss," Sirius argued. "It _happens_."

"The _particular_ set of rules you and your team decide to play with, are, of course, to be established and discussed with your team— and not "during the snog", either. This sort of Quidditch isn't about one team winning. In fact, it ought to be fun for both sides, and if your team does not like your tactics and maneuvers, they should be changed to fit their preferences," McGonagall informed. "Just as nobody has the right to pressure _you_ into playing, you do not have the right to pressure anyone, either. Communication is paramount to playing a good, fair game."

"So you're saying we can't ask for it?"

Googles levelled a pointed look at him, then continued as if there had been no interruption.

"If they do not want to participate in the game, _never_ try to convince them otherwise, just be patient and wait for them to decide when they are ready. Begging, bribing, and any other forms of persuasion are very severe fouls, and will likely result in terrible penalties that might otherwise have been avoided."

Sirius's eyebrows shot up. He's never had to beg or bribe _anyone_ for a game of Quidditch. Of any kind.

But.

 _What_?

"What sort of penalties?" Oh yeah. James would want to know about _this_ bit, wouldn't he? He was still hoping Evans would pucker up sometime this century.

"Books to your head?" Sirius suggested. James gave him a shove.

"Won't we get penalty shots, though?" Prongs asked, brightening. "And what about feints and things? Are _those_ allowed?"

"I'm confident you'll be finding out about what happens when you make a foul play on your own," McGoogles replied primly. "But it could destroy your relationship completely."

_What?_

"So what you're saying is that before we can even... ha ha ha, mount the broom, we have to jabber on for hours about it?" James asked.

"But how can we talk about it if we can't even ask for it?" Sirius cut in. He was not really in the mood for banter anymore, which struck him as odd. It wasn't that he hadn't sort of _sensed_ the existence of a whole set of rules before, but he'd just never come across anyone who'd want to talk for hours before a friendly one-off game or three. If anything, demands for rematches were the norm, up to the point _he_ ended up getting sick of it. "Where's the room for improvisation?" he wanted to know. "Feeling your way towards the... the hoops… or the Snitch..."

The way Googles stared at them told Sirius she thought this to be an entirely pointless exercise. But then came her riposte.

"I didn't say you had to 'jabber' over it for hours, Mr. Potter," she corrected, annoyed. "These sort of things should be decided upon over weeks of time, months, even years. Improvisation, while it might happen, is _never_ the preferred course of action. You would know that if you actually _talked_ to your love interests about it. Most girls prefer to wait until they feel ready to play."

" _What?!_ " It left both James's and Sirius's mouths at the same time.

"Talking about these things will show the other team that you _care_ , and if you can't take any time to ask for any input, or to put the other team's feelings _first_ , I'd advise you not to even bother approaching them with your narrow perception on the matter," McGonagall stated in a final tone. "Quidditch is, perhaps, just a game to you— but I can assure you that for the opposing team it is not only a weighty decision, but also something very special, and they have every right to decide how far they want to take the game, how they want to play it, and, especially, _when_."

_That's just cruel._

_A scandal!_ James agreed.

"Whoa, whoa," Sirius decided to stop her before she went and shattered this whole dimension he'd never even contemplated before. "Define discussing this sort of thing for _years_ , Professor."

 _What if Evans takes that long? I'll die of old age!_ James was freaking out. Sirius was just plain shocked.

"It's not that I don't care, and I understand _discussing_ it, but… _years_? _Seriously_?" James was aghast. McGonagall took a deep, steadying breath after fixing them with her narrowest glare. James plunged on, undeterred. "I mean, do all girls need _that_ long to make up their minds?"

This was so far removed from their previous experiences, it had upset their proverbial applecarts. Sirius's apples were actually rolling all over the place all of a sudden. He'd thought Nina wouldn't mind talking about it, but he couldn't fathom waiting _years_ for it. Never mind asking without asking.

And would it be so bad if he _had_ to?

…

…

Probably.

"Not all girls," Googles said, and Sirius let out the breath he'd been holding. There was still hope, then. "But some, girls your age especially, find it stressful and rather intimidating— if that is the case, I may suggest showering cold to get yourselves under control until _they_ want to play."

_Aw, man._

_Aw, man._

"You are still very young, and playing _Quidditch_ is about more than just having a good time. It is a special thing, especially when it's the first time. Treat it with the appropriate respect and reverence, and approach it with the responsibility it entails."

_But... but..._

"It's a game that should be based on love, on mutual respect and understanding, nothing else."

 _Well, then… what?_ Sirius frowned, how did things get so confusing in a matter of _minutes_?

"It might be news to you," McGonagall was clearly enjoying their expressions entirely too much. "But there is such a thing as _morals_ , and girls who have them will want to wait longer, even until they are married. They won't play with anyone they do not love or trust, and earning that is what you should focus on instead of _tactics_."

"What is this, some sort of joke?" James blurted out. Sirius thought it was certainly _wrong_. No two ways about it. Sure, he was all for letting Nina tell him when she was in the mood for a one-on-one... Quidditch match, but _really_.

"We can't get married just to play _Quidditch_ ," he argued, frowning deeply. "That's a stupid rule." _And someone should change it_.

"It is not stupid," Googles corrected him, and was her tone _triumphant_? Gah. "If that is what the other team wants, they have every right to feel that way. It is not a rule in every case either, but if it _is_ , you should _respect_ it. Being chivalrous, as _no doubt you two are_ , having been Sorted into the House best known for this very trait," she added, a gleam in her eye, "is not limited to opening the door for them or taking them out on a date. Regarding Quidditch, it is an _absolute_ rule."

She had a point, but… getting married before getting to play a _game_? Was she even for real? Next to him, James was about as confused as Sirius felt.

 _Apparently girls don't like Quidditch very much,_ Sirius muttered in his mind.

 _And they can hold off for bloody ages, too_.

Was it wrong to pin all his hopes on Nina's lack of morals? Because that's exactly where Sirius was at, just now.

He crossed his arms, deciding this needed some thinking over. Being stuck without Quidditch for years wasn't a good outlook. And playing Quidditch with anyone other than Nina… odd as it was, he wasn't even _considering_ the option. One chair over, James was on the same boat.

"Any relationship worth its salt," McGonagall added with definite satisfaction, "is not merely the result of mutual affection, genuine caring and good communication. Loyalty, trust, friendship, respect, and enjoying just _being_ with that special person, all of that is a part of it too. If you truly _love_ your team, then Quidditch is not even the most relevant bit of it. Putting them before you, and therefore, their needs and wants before yours, is the best way to show that love."

Silence met her words, but it wasn't out of shock — Sirius was, just like James, seriously considering the matter for the first time, weighing his feelings and finding no wrong with what Googles had just said. He liked Nina — really, _really_ liked her — and he enjoyed just being around her, and he definitely cared loads about her too, but…

 _Love_?

This was uncharted territory. This was making him nervous.

This was _scary_.

Next to him, James had no such conflicting emotions. He, for one, was head-over-heels. Had been since forever… Only now, he was realising all the ways he'd gone wrong — _so wrong_ — in making that known, and he was kicking himself for his myriad blunders.

The result was the same, though.

None of what either of them was feeling would land you in Gryffindor. Not for a minute.

"If that becomes the case for either of you, it couldn't hurt to content yourself with what you have," Googles delivered her final blow, and now their roles were reversed — she was smirking, biting back a laugh at their half scandalised, half terrified expressions.

"Quidditch _isn't_ everything, but it can have weighty consequences, and we shall now look at some of them, as well as at some alternatives to your _gameplay_."

.

* * *

.

"Any ideas on who could be throwing spanners in our every operation?" Coop's voice was thick with concern as he looked around the room.

They were in Ireland, today, in the backroom of a Muggle pub that was packed with people celebrating… that it was Wednesday, probably.

 _"_ _And if I'm drunk then my money is me own and them don't like me can leave me alone!"_ trailed faintly to Betty's ears. Next to her, Alastor snorted and shook his head, but there was no amusement behind it.

"Whoever it is, they're good," boomed Tiberius Shacklebolt. He was nursing a tot of whiskey, but he looked as worried as the rest of them. "They leave no magical signature to follow, no trail. All we got from the last duel was a box."

"A box?" Betty asked. "What was in it?"

"We don't know yet," Alastor growled. "It's infused with a weave of spells so complicated, it took our best Curse-Breakers three days to identify them, and one week on, they haven't managed to dismantle them. If Voldemort is recruiting from the continent…" he trailed off, shook his grizzled head again.

"Any fatalities?"

"None… that we know of," Moody grumbled. "But you know Death Eaters. They always wait until we let our guard down to hit us where it hurts hardest."

"Has anyone even _seen_ them?"

"Even if we had, there isn't a way of telling, is there?" Minerva pointed out. "Nobody knows who they are, where they're from, or even how many of them there are."

"But they clearly seem to know who _we_ are," Janus Dearborn put down his gin-and-tonic. "They know where we'll be, and they're always miles ahead of us."

"That's never happened before," Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "We should try and set a trap for them. If Alastor is right and Voldemort is recruiting continental wizards, maybe they fought in the Grindelwald wars. That sort of expertise isn't developed overnight, or taught in any of the European Wizarding Schools."

A dark murmur filled the room, clashing with the joyful songs being belted out by the oblivious Muggles, who were now bellowing that, _"…St. Patrick was a gentleman, he came from decent people."_

"Be on your guard, and let's set watches on the known Muggle couples with children at school," Dumbledore suggested to the grim-looking group. "We have enough orphans to look after already. Let us stop this carnage, and if we manage to capture at least one of them in the process, we'll get the truth out of them."

.

* * *

.

"I can't believe she gave us ruddy _homework_ ," James muttered once they finally arrived at the Library, helping Sirius lower himself onto a chair in an automatic motion.

"Aye," he agreed, folding his arms on the table and burying his face in them, so the rest came out muffled. "You'd think this would be the _one_ thing we didn't bloody have to study for to get it right."

"I didn't learn _anything_ new when she went over the whole _technique_ ," James said at a mutter, and Sirius gave a chuckle. "But trust her to take all the fun out of _Quidditch_." Both kinds. Quidditch was now impossibly tainted in James's mind, and he knew Sirius wasn't feeling any different. If anything, they were both deeply, deeply disturbed.

Did she _have_ to show them how babies were born? Really? Not to mention what she called "one-player Quidditch". Gods, it had been _embarrassing_.

And now _this_.

"Oh, I don't know," came the muffled reply, "if she asks for a demonstration of the Contraceptive Charms, you can ask Evans if she'd like to help…"

James sinckered, but it was half-hearted. Funny as it could be, the very _real_ threat of having to make a whole thirty-minute speech on all aspects of baby-making, baby prevention, and the importance and traits of a healthy relationship in front of the whole school if their essays and dissertations and spell research were found wanting in any way, was making him feel ill, and Sirius — _Sirius_ was plain overwhelmed. James could understand him fully.

For someone who had been raised to deny emotions to the point of repression, this session had been sort of a roller-coaster. Hell, Sirius had only admitted he _loved_ their _mum_ for the first time just a few days ago, and that had been a big enough step for him.

Now, he was coming to the realisation he didn't merely _fancy_ Nina. McGonagall had managed to shake something loose in him, and no, it had nothing to do with _Quidditch_. It had everything to do with something James had tried to explain to his best friend for years.

Not that James thought it was an overall _terrible_ thing. Maybe this was, actually, the best thing that could have happened to them, just now: For the first time in months, the nasty experiences of the recent past were far removed from Sirius's mind; for _once_ , he wasn't thinking about attacks, he wasn't worried about Voldemort, or fretting over whether or not he'd ever walk again, he wasn't going over the million nasty things he'd been remembering, or caught up in that dangerous downward spiral of _why_ he'd been teetering on the edge of since Sunday.

He was thinking about _one_ thing that was untainted by his past, and it was unravelling something very different in him, something that was the perfect distraction from the monsters running rampant in his head. Occupational therapy, as it were — the break from things James had been praying for since December.

Sirius was in love.

James had been aware of this for quite a while.

Sirius was only _just_ realising it, and ridiculous as the notion was that he had to take a four-hour class to finally understand what that meant, James was actually rather proud of his new brother, who had managed to acknowledge this fact at last.

He was finally beginning to get an _inkling_ of what it meant, to be in love. He was realising it felt odd and nerve-wracking and incredibly enticing and terrifying and addictive all at the same time, and he was so out of touch with the whole _feelings_ thing, it all bled over into James's system like a particularly contagious bug, one James had been intimately acquainted with for years.

And it was such a new, intriguing thing, Sirius hadn't even once given his bum leg a thought since they arrived at McGoogles' office. He hadn't lapsed into a pensive sort of sulk, and James hadn't had to snap him out of his brooding all day.

Researching contraceptive spells and writing a five-foot essay on healthy relationships, the responsibility of appropriate gameplay, respect for one's partner, and the slew of other things Googles had landed them with, seemed a small price to pay for this actual, _real_ , breather. He didn't even mind doing the research, or even writing the thing — twice over, if need be, Sirius was too preoccupied with his own mixed-up feelings to focus on any of _this_.

Baby steps, James decided.

And wasn't it a godsend.

"You know, she was probably just exaggerating," James decided a moment later, a handful of spellbooks in his arms. "I'm sure we'll have this _Quidditch_ thing down in a matter of _weeks_. All we need to do is get them to agree to a date."

"A _date_?" Sirius's voice was higher-pitched than usual as he jerked upright in alarm.

"Come off it, you've gone on dates," James chortled, but it died when he saw Sirius's expression. "You've _never_ …?" He blinked, thought back on it. "But you went to Puddifoot's with Gladys Gudg—"

"We… went _behind_ Puddifoot's," Sirius confessed, without a hint of embarrassment. "Didn't really make it inside."

"What about Lizzie Cruikshank in Third Year?"

"We just had like, half a butterbeer before we snuck off."

"And all those others?" James asked, deciding that getting each name was just too long a list.

"Just, you know, snogs. For fun," Sirius told him. "Don't stare at me like that, it's not like you're any better." James had to give him that. He raised his eyebrows, though. He had thought Sirius to be the go-to person if he ever had an actual date himself. He snorted, then gave Sirius an encouraging smile.

"Not to worry, Padfoot. We'll figure this out— Evans is talking to me now, and I bet you anything you want, Nina likes you at least enough to go out with you. All we have to do is come up with the best ever dates and then we'll have the whole matter in the bag."

"Unless they want to wait until they're married."

"Yeah," James said pensively. Then he chuckled. "But you already proposed, so you've got that going for you."

.

* * *

.

That evening, the Prophet reported a failed attack at St. Mungo's. The article mentioned the duel that had broken out in a secure ward, but didn't mention that the Evanses were involved— just that a valiant Healer and a couple of orderlies had managed to stave off the Death Eaters before they could do any real damage.

It made Remus's stomach wind itself into knots.

"How much _more_ proof do you need?" Marlene hissed at him.

"One thing only," Remus said. "I need to talk to James." Marlene groaned. "You saw her and Sirius at the party, Marlene," Remus argued. "He's bloody _smitten_."

Nobody had missed that Sirius had spent most of the party with Hogwarts' newest addition, or that he hadn't really been enjoying himself much until she arrived; he'd actually withdrawn to the observation deck after doing the rounds, claiming that he needed to get some air, and by then it was lost on nobody that he was just looking for an excuse to leave. But then, Nina had approached him with a warm mug of butterbeer and they'd both ended up laughing together and singing along to Myron's latest compositions until three in the morning. Sirius hadn't left her side at all, except to set up the fireworks with James and Remus.

"What if she's manipulating him?" Marlene hissed. "Besides, he dumps everyone he snogs. His longest relationship has been what, three days? What's the big deal about this one?"

"One week," Remus corrected, blushing. Marlene shook her head impatiently, shrugged her shoulders. "He hasn't, though," he added. "Snogged her."

"What?" Marlene looked straight into his eyes, disbelief etched into her every feature.

"He's known her for, like, eight months," Remus told her. "He met her in the Summer. Spent the holidays with her… and he hasn't snogged her yet."

Marlene gave him a very disappointed look.

"That's just proof she's a good actress," she argued, and Remus bit his lip. He hadn't told her that Nina had been around Sirius during his recovery, that she'd been in Blackpool. They had all fed the world another story, and he feared it would backfire if he told her anything now.

"He _fancies_ her, Marlene. And after all that's happened… he needs a break. And," Remus added, spotting James and Sirius walking into the Great Hall, "I can't just dump that bomb on him without James. He _needs_ to be in on this."

"Fine. Just… hurry up," she relented. "What if tomorrow the headlines say there was an attack in Bristol?"

.

* * *

.

Remus pocketed the newspaper and went to join his friends, who were just arriving from their obligatory visit to the Nurse. Peter was already stuffing his face in a hurry, glancing at them as though racing to finish before James and Sirius sat down. He had been strangely absent since the Moon, allegedly brewing some potions for a project.

Remus didn't think anything of it, although he wished Peter would shower before meals; he smelled as bad as Snape now. Pete had been brewing many of the potions for Sirius since the holidays, and it surprised nobody when he claimed Slughorn had decided to give him special assignments.

"I'll see you later," Peter told them as they were sitting down, rushing out as though someone had announced they were giving away free cakes outside. "My potion's boiling."

"Ants in his pants," Sirius commented, already straddling the bench to talk to Nina and ask about her day, while James let out a light laugh, looking around for any sign of Evans. Oblivious as his friends were, Remus still had a hard time not letting anything slip during dinner; Sirius was uncharacteristically nervous around Nina, but she looked like she always did, made it hard to believe that she could honestly be trying to spy on them— on Sirius— for the Dark Lord.

"What did McGonagall want to see you for, today?" Nina asked curiously.

"Quidditch," James and Sirius chorused, and to everyone's confusion, James let out a laugh while Sirius just looked bummed out.

"Will you be playing?" she asked him, looking genuinely concerned.

"She doesn't seem to want me to," answered Sirius.

"It makes sense," was the rejoinder, to which Sirius looked alarmed. "You're not well enough to, are you?"

"I _could_ play," he protested at once. "I don't need my leg for _that_."

"Of course you could," Nina countered, laughing lightly. "But I'm sure you'll be well enough when the time comes."

"Do you really think so?" Sirius sounded, and looked, desperately hopeful. "I mean, yeah. But even if I'm not, you know… when the time comes, I could _absolutely_ play regardless."

"I'm sure you could," said Nina bracingly. "But I'd like to see you all better before then, I'm sure it will be _brilliant_ if you're at the top of your game."

This made Sirius's face light up.

"I'll do my best," he promised, smiling widely. Next to Remus, James was grinning as well, nudged Sirius as an owl dropped off a letter on Nina's head.

"Oh," she said, skimming it. "McGonagall wants to see me too, on Friday before class."

.

* * *

.

They made their way to the Common Room together— a very slow sort of journey, despite the many passages and shortcuts they took — and Remus found himself increasingly anxious the closer they got to Gryffindor Tower, so at first he didn't really register what was making his hackles rise.

"It can't be about _Quidditch_ , right?" Sirius asked, during one of his many breathers on the way back. He had been rather quiet since he heard Nina got a letter too.

"No, mate. Googles has _no business_ talking to Nina about _Quidditch_ ," James told him, and why did he sound so forcedly reassuring?

"She isn't even on the Ravenclaw team," Remus pointed out, perplexed when James laughed aloud and Sirius grimaced. Before he could ask, though, he caught a whiff of smell — cloves and aftershave — and his mind was suddenly thrown for a 180-degree turn, plunged back into the conversation he'd spied on earlier, realised he had been smelling this very scent on and off all day.

Remus turned towards the smell when the tunnel forked, but Sirius held him back.

"It's this way, Moony," he said, nodding his head to the left branch of the passage they were in.

"Do you smell that?" Remus asked instead. Sirius and James shrugged their shoulders, clearly not thinking anything of it. "Does it smell like aftershave?"

"And cloves," supplied James.

"It is an odd mix," agreed Sirius, sniffing the air. "Maybe a new cologne?"

"Yeah, that's got to be it. I'll catch up with you in a sec." Remus took the fork to the right, peered out through the mirror in the Fifth Floor before opening the passage. All he saw was Rob Harper, a Seventh-Year Hufflepuff, who turned and flashed him a smile in greeting, but the smell was too vague to come from him.

He made his way to the Common Room, but the tantalising smell seemed to be around every corner, now vague, now strong— never strong enough to pinpoint towards its wearer, but often so faint Remus feared he was imagining it now.

.

* * *

.

By the time he reached the dormitory, the shower was running and James was corking an empty vial of Dreamless Sleep potion.

"Did you find out the name of the cologne?" he asked, pulling Sirius's blankets over him and regarding his handiwork with satisfaction.

"No, I… it was just a weird smell," Remus said, even as Peter shuffled out of the bathroom, hair wet and steaming. He muttered something neither boy caught and buried himself deep in his covers, snapped his curtains shut, and let out a snore immediately after.

"What's his deal?" James wanted to know, nodding towards Peter's closed curtains.

"He's been helping Sluggie with some potions, apparently," Remus informed with a shrug. "The sort you have to stir every three hours and such, he's about as tired as Sirius."

"No kidding," James commented. "I really hope Dad figures out how to fix his leg. He's really bummed out about it. He's tried to keep it down, but it's pretty much all he can think of."

"Yeah, aside from Dark Magic around every corner," Remus supplied, and James shrugged, sitting down on his bed and loosening his tie. "Does he still think Peter smelled of it?"

"Turns out, he did," James informed.

"What? How?" Remus hadn't known the details, just that Sirius had dropped the subject.

"I had to shake him up a bit, but Pete finally said that Snivellus was there when he had his accident. He mocked him, but then he left him lying there, the greasy bastard."

"What a tit," Remus muttered angrily. "No wonder Pete was in such a rotten mood. Why didn't he say anything?"

"Pete was a bit ashamed that he didn't hex Snivellus. But that's what we're for, isn't it? I'll get the git back the first chance I get. Sirius already promised to help, but really. He's been jumping at shadows. Or he was," James amended. "Now… let's say he's suitably distracted."

"Are you painting the pitch, then?" Remus asked wryly.

"Don't even mention it, I think Googles forgot about that particular punishment. She wanted to _talk_. About sex."

 _"_ _What_?"

"It was so _weird_ ," James told him emphatically, chuckling as he kicked his robes under his bed. "She kept using Quidditch terms for it, which was hilarious— but it devolved into a bloody lecture on feelings and romance and trust and respect and all the nonce, and our little Sirius has just realised he's dunked deep in the pool of love."

"What?"

"Even you noticed, Moony. He's bloody head over heels, hell, even Pete said so earlier."

"Yes, but…"

"It _just_ clicked for him." James pointed out, looking for all the world like it was the best news ever. "I _swear_ , he was completely unaware — and you should've seen his _face_ when it finally hit him — but now he's realised he's helplessly smitten."

Remus swallowed back some bile, "Did he now?"

"It's a big step," James murmured, now in his pyjamas. "Hell, it's bloody _huge,_ for him. I'm just glad Nina is as fully besotted with him as he is with h—"

"James."

"I mean, it's not just fancying a snog, is it?" James went on, oblivious as he twirled his suddenly animated pyjama top around in an exaggerated sort of waltz (or Tango, it was hard to tell). "He's actually, _genuinely_ in luuuuurv—"

" _James_ ," Remus interrupted his gushing friend. James froze mid-movement, his top now hanging limply in his hand. "We need to talk. Like, yesterday."

"Oh, _bloody hell_." He might not know what Remus was about to say, but James could sniff an unexploded bombshell a mile away. "Can't we have _one_ day without fucking depressing news? What is it now?"

Remus gulped down the knot in his throat, gave James a deeply regretful look.

"You've got to hear this. And I'm sorry, but you're not going to like it."

.

* * *

.

They had hardly been home long enough to put the kettle on, when Alphard's owl Mycroft dropped off a parcel on the kitchen counter and Coop decided they could— and should — have their tea in the workshop downstairs.

"What is it?" Betty asked curiously, when he opened the box and revealed a formless sort of lump.

"Dragon's knee," Coop answered, taking a sip of his drink. "I swear, Alfie has the damnedest keepsakes."

"What do you mean?"

"The London fire of 1666, you know how it was caused by a dragon."

"Yes, a Hebridean Black that was chasing an egg thief," Betty answered reminiscently. "Said to be one of the largest, most vicious creatures to ever fly over the city, I've heard the story."

"Ollivander, well one of them, got a hold of the dragon's heart and made a wand from it, but apparently the Blacks had dibs on the rest. This is the sinew and bone of that very dragon's leg joint."

"Alfie had that?" Betty asked, frowning. "Whatever for?"

"You know him, he's a packrat," Coop replied, and they both laughed. "That he has agreed to part with this, though…"

"Yes. Big step for him, to give you this delicate, thoughtful gift. Where will you display that beauty?"

Coop laughed, his arms wrapped around his wife.

"It's not for me," he said, eyes dancing with amusement. She gave him an inquisitive look. "It's for Sirius. I'm making him a new leg brace."

"From _dragon bone_? Isn't it a bit unstable when used magically?"

"Hmm, yes."

"We really don't need Sirius _more_ unstable, honey. I keep expecting Albus's or Minerva's owl, telling us he's gone and set his dormitory on fire because he thought he was under attack."

"James is with him," Coop countered calmly.

"James is as bad off—"

"And they need to get through this, together. We won't always be there to help them see what's real and what isn't," he added. "If anything, we're the least qualified for it. They share a mind, and the last few times Sirius thought he was under attack he wasn't wrong. James nearly died because I didn't believe him... and have some faith in our boy. James knows what to do if Sirius panics again. We went over it in Monaco."

"And there I was, thinking all you did was gamble with the Muggles," Betty replied wryly, smiling when Coop blushed and shrugged. "So, tell me how this highly unstable thing will help our newest son walk again?"

"Er. Yes. Well. This should bind with our lad without a problem," Coop told her, his chin hooked over her shoulder. "Because he's bound to it successfully already. The core of his wand comes from this very dragon's heart."

Betty gave him a mildly impressed look. Coop smiled all the wider. Then she laughed softly.

"That explains a lot, actually."

"That he's got a thing for dragons?"

"Loves elemental magic… all those fire spells…"

"Oh aye, that wand is undoubtedly a good match," Coop agreed, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "And now, to give him the gift of independent movement."

"Don't stay up all night, love." She pressed a kiss on Coop's untidy hair. When she got upstairs, though, she heard something that made her freeze.

"…like I remember…" The voice was male, unfamiliar, and it made her blood run cold. Never mind who they were— How did they get in? Not _one_ of their alarms had been triggered, none of the elves were around. Betty's wand vibrated in her fingers, but her hand was quite steady as she noiselessly crept forward.

"Take a look at _this_." A second voice joined the first. She could hear footsteps, a grim sort of chuckle. She risked one glance into the dining room, saw two tall wizards in heavy black cloaks examining something on the mantle.

Betty Potter took a deep breath to steady herself, her hare Patronus already noiselessly speeding towards the basement to alert her husband. Then she turned the corner.

" _Stupefy_!" she snapped, but the cloaked wizard she was aiming for turned and sidestepped her jinx easily. Betty spun around, taking quick aim to fire a second spell at the other figure—

It never made it out.

The wizards turned, hoods lowered. Betty Potter's eyes widened as she met theirs, recognised them. She could see their mouths move, forming words that were lost somewhere along the way from her ear canal to her shocked brain.

" _You_ ," she breathed, aghast. "No— that's just… that's just _impossible_."

 _Now_ she was shaking.

.

* * *

.

 **TBC** , hopefully in less than a month, but when work picks up, I can't help it. Adulting sucks.

 **Next Up:** James joins the spy brigade, Googles has a sneaky plan, Sirius gets a dragon brace, Peter is acting suspicious, Lily returns, Voldemort and Rasmus attack, Remus has a crisis, and our breather is over. Again.

Thanks for reading!

DND

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The Talk is the result of a joint effort and actually the original idea of Shayde123— and I just realised how long ago we came up with it and now I feel friggin' old. Not as much going on in this one as I'd hoped, but I gave up on finishing this thing in 32 chapters long ago. I'm at the point now where I'm just enjoying the ride, and I hope you're all doing the same. 
> 
> ANNOUNCEMENT: I've joined the LLF Comment Project, and all you writers out there are of course encouraged to join as well. Ffnet doesn't do links, but they're on tumblr and called long live feedback (no spaces). Go check them out.
> 
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> If you don't want your comment to be responded to (sometimes you're not up for a convo), then you can sign your review with "whisper" and I'll just quietly appreciate it but will keep my gushy response to myself.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Eau de Rotten Shrimp](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15768342) by [RestInReesesPieces](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RestInReesesPieces/pseuds/RestInReesesPieces)
  * [Eau de Rotten Shrimp](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15768342) by [RestInReesesPieces](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RestInReesesPieces/pseuds/RestInReesesPieces)




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